


I'm So High On Misery

by daggertattoos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Gallavich, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Pedophilia, Minor Character Death, Shameless AU, an attempt at smut that failed miserably i'm sorry, either way its mandy, even though the description is of emma greenwell's mandy, exaggerated use of the word fuck, i picture jane levy's mandy in this tbh, mickey is a sarcastic little shit, some violence idk?, there's fluff i swear, they're so fucking gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 91,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggertattoos/pseuds/daggertattoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Ian's existence is a secret to the Gallagher family, thanks to Monica's year-long disappearance after an intoxicated affair with Frank's brother, Clayton back in '96. That changes when Ian shows up at the doorstep of a certain rundown home in the South Side of Chicago, following the death of his parents, seeking shelter. Ian learns the way of the Southside, with help from Lip, Lip's childhood best friend, Mickey and Mickey's sister, Mandy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're family, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Since I had so much fun writing All for Ian, I decided to write something else and this idea was just playing around in my head. Enjoy!

Its late November and the Gallagher home couldn't be more festive. Thanksgiving was rolling around in a little over a week and the house was full, what with Lip being home from college, and Kevin and Veronica's twins finding their place in the house as easily as their parents did. The presence of the two infamous Milkovich siblings, Mickey and Mandy, only increased the chances of the house getting lit on fire, but made the place feel more complete nonetheless. The two spent more nights here than Fiona could count and while she was convinced that Mickey had Lip up to the early hours of the morning getting high or wasted, or occasionally going out to wreak havoc in their neighbourhood, she had no clue as to why Mandy ever needed to stay till the next morning. Mickey missed the company of his best friend and took any opportunity to get the two of them in trouble whenever Lip came home, which Fiona understands. But Mandy? Sure, Mandy has been a close family friend since Lip and Mickey got tight back in the first grade, and yeah, she was a fan favourite when it came to watching the kids because everyone knows she lets them do whatever the fuck they want, but why she needs to sleep on their living room couch almost every night, even when her brother isn't here, has Fiona completely puzzled. Fiona hasn't ever attempted to kick her out of the house, though, because even though she doesn't appreciate Mandy walking around the house half-naked or teaching Debbie her slutty ways, she gives a little to the Squirrel Fund every time she gets her pay check from work, as does Mickey, and for a family like theirs, a little goes a long way, so in return, the Gallaghers keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. And Fiona isn't an idiot. She might not have graduated high school and gotten into college like Lip did, but she knows better than to pick a fight with a Milkovich, _especially_ Mandy.

_This is my family_ , Fiona thinks to herself as she serves up dinner for the hungry kids, planting a slobbery kiss on Liam's forehead while she's at it. Liam just giggles, saying, “Fi, fi, fi!”

“Hey, Fi,” Lip starts, but is interrupted by several knocks on the door. They all glanced at the door, but Carl and Debbie quickly turn back to their plates of food so they could avoid being asked to get the door. Fiona looks at Lip, then shrugs. Rolling his eyes, Lip pushes himself up, sarcastically saying, “No, don't worry, guys. _I got this one._ ”

“Might be Mickey looking for food,” Debbie mutters, shrugging as she spoons another mouthful of macaroni in her mouth.

“Or Mandy looking for a place to crash again,” Fiona snorts, slumping down in a seat next to Liam, smoothing down his soft hair and tickling his ear.

“No, don't- you don't get to do that, okay?” Lip responds to Fiona's comment.

“Do what?” Fiona says, taken aback by Lip's snarky tone.

“Get on Mandy's back for staying over,” Lip answers hastily. “Look, I know she's here a lot but I also know she's got a good reason to be. So, just _don't_.”

“Lip, if you're sleeping with her-”

“No, Fiona, I'm not fucking my best friend's little sister!” Lip snaps, then sighs. He makes a mental note to control his anger, not wanting to fuck up the limited time he gets to spend with his family. “She can't stay at home, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Fiona says after a few moments of silence. She, of all people, is familiar with the routine of coming home to drunks, addicts, fucking _maniacs_. She knows all too well the feeling of needing to get away from your own fucked up family, even if it means staying with another fucked up family. 

The banging on the door gets louder, snapping the both of them out of their moment. Lip gives Fiona a bright smile before disappearing into the living room. Expecting a Milkovich, Lip swings the door open, singing, “ _Well, if it isn't another Milkovich!_ ” But staring back at him through the open door was neither Mickey nor Mandy, or any other Milkovich for that matter. Instead, he was looking at a tall, redheaded teenage boy, bright green eyes accompanying freckled skin and a muscled body. “ _Oh_ ,” is all he says, not knowing what to make of this stranger.

The boy breaks the silence and says, “What's a Milkovich?”

Lip can't help but laugh at the innocence of his question, which confirms his suspicion that this wasn't a Southside kid because if you were Southside, its impossible to _not_ know what a Milkovich is, and if you were Southside, you wouldn't be wearing a jacket that actually _fit_ your body or boots that could actually keep you _warm_ in this chilly weather. The fact that the boy's face is twisted in pure confusion at Lip's laughter makes it all the more enjoyable.

So, Lip says, “Never mind what a Milkovich is. What do you want?”

The boy stammers at Lip's bluntless, not accustomed to the ways of Canaryville and his cheeks burn slightly as he manages to say, “I-I'm looking for Monica.” He then immediately presses his thin lips together as if saying another word would kill him.

Lip is taken aback by what he says and he's unsure what to say because 1) Monica hasn't lived here for God knows how many years, and 2) She's a fucking train wreck and whenever she's involved, someone ends up getting hurt and honestly, Lip didn't want that to happen, especially not now when things are finally going good for his family. A part of Lip is urging him to tell this guy to fuck off and not to drag Monica back into their lives. _He doesn't know the guy anyway, right?_ But another part of Lip is telling him to give this guy the warmest bear hug he's ever given to anyone because goddamn, if anyone's involved with Monica, then they're probably fucked. With his options tearing him in two, he goes for Option 3, which is to seek help in the one person he deems knows it all, “FIONA! Fi, get over here!”

“Jesus, Lip, what is-” Fiona is grumbling as she pulls her sweater tighter around her body to fend off the cold as she walks over to the front door, but she bites her tongue to stop herself from speaking once her eyes land on the redhead. She glances at Lip but he just shrugs, then notices the smaller figures trailing behind her, which makes him smile because his siblings wouldn't be Gallaghers if they knew not to stick their noses into other people's business. So he grins at Liam, picking up the small boy, while Carl and Debbie hang onto either side of Fiona, eyeing the stranger outside. It was then, when the five of them were in the house with the one boy opposite them, that Lip felt a sudden empty pit in his stomach, almost as though for the first time in a long time, his family was incomplete. With Monica's disappearance and Frank's constant drunken state, the Gallagher kids knew that the five of them was all the family they had and that was all they ever needed. But right then, it felt as if they needed something else to make their family right, and the boy on the other side of the door was the answer to that.

“Can I help you?” Fiona finally says, drawing Lip's attention back to the boy.

“Yeah, I'm trying to find someone named, uh, Monica?” he says slowly, his eyes darting from one child to the other.

At the mention of her name, everyone tenses, even Liam going seemingly quiet. Fiona puts her arms protectively around Carl and Debbie, out of habit and instinct, and clears her throat, saying, “Who are you and what do you want with Monica?”

Trying to hide the fact that Fiona's icy tone had slightly frightened him, he says, while twisting his hands, “I'm Ian, and Monica is my mother.”

Fiona blinks at him. Twice. “Monica is your _what_?” She finds it almost hard to believe because if he had said Frank was his father, it wouldn't be that much of a surprise to find out that Frank had knocked up some woman without even knowing about it. But how could Monica hide the fact that she was pregnant for nine months and not come home with a baby? Unless... “How old are you?” she says suddenly, earning a wild look from Lip.

“17," Ian answers, glancing between her and Lip.

“ _Shit._ ” Fiona sees it all coming together now, but no one else does, leaving them all staring at her in confusion. “Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit.”

“Does she always do that?” Ian asks quietly, but no one answers him.

“Fiona?” Lip says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “What's going on?”

She sighs, but not in a good way. Then it clicks that they've all been standing with the door wide open, too shocked or confused to notice that they're freezing to their bones. Fiona looks over at Ian, and gives him a small smile, but its probably too tight to come across as a smile because Ian simply looks back at her with confusion. “Its Ian, right?” He nods. “Come on in, Ian. Its cold outside.”

They'd been sitting in the living room in silence for a good five minutes, with the exception of Liam muttering a random chain of syllables every once in a while, their dinner left abandoned on the table to get cold. All eyes are on Ian, then on Fiona, then back to Ian, who shifts uncomfortably under the children's gazes. Lip is the first one to break the tension as he says, “So, Monica's your mother, huh?”

Ian shrugs, because honestly, he didn't know either.

“Anyone wanna tell me how the fuck Monica kept a fucking child hidden from us for _18 years_?” Lip says, his fist clenching.

“She left,” Fiona answers, laughing slightly, but it didn't sound like laughter at all. “I remember. It was just you and me, Lip. You were just a little boy, not more than two, so its not a surprise you don't remember. One day, Mom just up and left. Didn't come back for a year or so. I didn't make much of it because God knows how many times she's gone and done that to us, and she did come back, so I just chalked it up to her wanting to get away from it all for a while. Couldn't blame her, Frank was a fucking mess that year. But, if she left, then I guess its because it wasn't Frank's, which is probably why she came back without the baby.”

“Shit,” Lip says after thinking it over, neither of them noticing that Fiona referred to Monica with the term ‘Mom’. “Fucking Monica.”

“Yeah,” Fiona sighs, then turns to Ian. “If you're not Frank's kid, then whose are you?”

“My dad? Uh, Clayton,” Ian paused, then, “Gallagher. Clayton Gallagher.”

Fiona's jaw almost dropped because even though none of them were close to their extended family, she knew that name. Clayton. “Frank's brother?”

From what Ian had heard and what he put together, Monica was their mother too, which made them half-siblings. But Ian had heard of Frank, his father's brother, and if Frank was their father, it would make them cousins, as well. “So, I'm your _half-brother_ and also your _cousin_?”

Hearing it out loud, it sounded even more insane to Ian, but the Gallagher siblings had heard crazier things and were taking it in stride. They knew their mother and if Monica was anything, it was plain psychotic so the ugly truth that she got knocked up with their uncle's child then kept the baby a secret from them all their lives wasn't so hard to believe once you thought about it. Accepting the fact that the Gallagher clan had a new sibling was fine, with their parents who are constantly getting around, it wouldn't surprise them to find out that they have twenty secret siblings. But the real question was, _what the fuck were they gonna do with him?_

“My parents are dead,” Ian blurted out suddenly, capturing everyone's attention. “I-I mean, my dad and my mom. N-not Monica, my _other_ mom, Lucy.”

“That why you're here?” Lip asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I guess so,” he answers, but shrugs. “My dad left me some money and a letter telling me to look for Monica, to come here, to find my family. 'Course I didn't believe it, you know, the whole my mom's not really my mom deal, n-not until now, I guess. I mean, even now, I still can't really believe it. A biological mother. Five siblings, o-or cousins, I don't know. Its just...”

“Fucked up?” Fiona offers, smiling a little.

Ian laughs at that, nodding. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Well, that's the Gallaghers,” Fiona says, feeling sorry that he had to find out this way.

“Look, I know you don't know me, and I know just because we're related, it doesn't mean you're obliged to do anything," Ian says, his shoulders tense and straight, “but I don't really have anywhere else to go, you know?”

Fiona knows. Lip knows. _They all know._ They know what its like to feel like you have nothing else in the world, no direction, nobody to hold your hand and guide you. In the end, you go to where you'll always have a place: _your family_. Family is the only thing the Gallaghers have in this fucked up place and half-brother or cousin or whatever, Ian is still family. Which is why Fiona excuses herself and Lip to the kitchen to discuss the situation.

“So?” Fiona says, crossing her arms. Her hair, even though secured with a hair tie, is falling out of its bun and strands frame her face. Her pale face with her thin, chapped lips, no matter how many times she licks them, the cold always gets to them. Her sunken in eyes, the lack of sleep and rest due to the duty of being the kids' legal guardian and working several jobs, apparent in them. Her fragile frame looks as though she might collapse any moment, like she might give up, but she doesn't. _She never does._ Its times like these when Lip is truly grateful for his sister. For everything she's done for them. Raising them as her own, caring for them, protecting them. She was more of a parent than either of their actual parents ever were and if Ian ever gets the chance to feel what its like to have Fiona watch over him, he's a goddamn lucky bastard.

“I say we take the guy in,” Lip says almost too quickly, making Fiona frown.

“Are you sure? I mean, we've got a pretty full house already what with you, and V's babies, and the Milkoviches, and Frank popping in whenever the fuck he wants,” Fiona says, sighing. “My hands are tied, Lip, with the kids and work-”

“Exactly! You'd have an extra pair of helping hands around here,” Lip says excitedly. “Sure, you got me and you know I'd hop on the L straight away if any shit came up, but Ian would be here when I'm not. He could get a job, pitch in with the Squirrel Fund. He could watch the kids if you ever felt like taking the night off and go drinking with V and you wouldn't have to worry about Mandy letting Carl watch porn past his bedtime or Debbie sneak out to meet boys. He could _help_ , Fiona.”

“Boy, you really want him to stay, don't you?” Fiona says, laughing a little at her younger brother.

Lip smiles at that, because for some reason, he feels that making Ian a part of their family could be the best damn thing that could ever happen to them. “Yeah, yeah, I think he'd be good. I don't know what the fuck it is, Fi, but when I saw him, I just knew that we need him and you know he needs us. He's family, Fiona. We could always use a little family.”

Fiona considers this, but she's still not fully convinced. “What if he's faking it? What if this is just another one of Frank's plots to get money from us?”

“You seriously think that crackhead could come up with something like this?”

“I don't know, Lip!” Fiona snaps suddenly, then presses her hands to her face. “I just, I don't know.”

Lip is quiet for a while, then his soft voice says, “What if it were me?”

“What?”

“What if it were me? What if the roles were reversed and you grew up with Ian as your brother, and one day, I show up at the doorstep, looking for my family.” Lip looks at Fiona through his eyelashes and even Fiona can't deny the desperation in his eyes. “Would you take me in then?”

Fiona can't find the right words to say, but she knows what she has to do now. She turns to call Debbie and Carl so they can agree on this like a family, but they were one step ahead of her, standing in the kitchen doorway. 

“I think Ian should stay,” Debbie says. 

And Fiona replies with, “Oh, yeah? Why's that?” 

“He's nice,” is all Debbie says in return, but Carl says, “He told me he'd teach me how to skate.” 

At that, Fiona laughs and nods, pulling them all back to the living room, where Ian was sat in the armchair, bouncing a giggling Liam up and down on his knees. Lip gives Fiona a knowing look as if to say _I told you so_ , and Fiona rolls her eyes at him.

Ian notices they've all returned, and stops bouncing Liam, but keeps the small boy in his lap. Liam likes Ian, as far as the rest of them can tell, because he's pinching and grabbing at Ian's face, occasionally squeezing it to get a funny face out of Ian, which makes Liam burst out in laughter. Ian laughs too, his grin getting wider and wider at the antics of the little boy. “He keeps trying to tell me his name, but I haven't really got it yet,” Ian says, before sticking out his tongue at Liam to make him giggle again.

“Its Liam,” Fiona answers, smiling at Ian. “I'm Fiona, that's Lip, Debbie and Carl.”

Ian nods, still grinning and his smile is so bright, its infectious and Fiona finds herself smiling so much that it could split her face in two. 

“Look, Ian,” she starts, with Lip by her side and the other kids to back her up. “We know we're not exactly the most functional family, and we're probably not even half as rich as where you came from, but we're family, right? So if you will, we'd really like it if you were a part of our family. Our fucked up, Southside Gallagher family.”

Fiona hadn't even finished her sentence before Ian's face broke out into an even brighter grin than before. “You hear that, Liam?” Ian gasps, standing up and carrying Liam with him. “I'm gonna be your family!” Liam giggles, wrapping his arms around Ian's neck, making the rest of them laugh and move in for a group hug. 

Lip grins as he embraces Ian, whispering, “Welcome home, brother.” Fiona hugs Ian's side, kissing his cheek, while Carl and Debbie squeeze their way into the large embrace, finding some body part of Ian to hang onto.

Ian had always felt like he didn't belong back home. He loved his parents, Clayton and Lucy, more than the world, but apart from them, he never really fit in with anyone else. Sure, he had a couple of friends at school, but it was military school and the guys there were rough, too rough for Ian. He loved training and he loved what he did, but he never really felt like he fit in. In a way, he was almost glad that his parents had passed. Not in the _I've always wanted them dead anyway_ kind of glad, but more like glad that it opened up this door for him, a chance to be with his true family. Now, in the arms of his new family, Ian felt right at home and if he didn't have Liam giggling in his ear, he would probably cry.


	2. What's a Milkovich?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian settles down in the Gallagher home and meets the Milkovich siblings. Mickey suggests that Ian should be officially welcomed to South Side.

“KIDS! BREAKFAST!”

Ian never thought he'd ever hear that because 1) _Kids_ would mean that he wasn't the only child in the house, and 2) His mother wasn't the type who made breakfast, let alone wake you up for it. He stretches in his bed, his grey wife beater riding up his torso as he kicks off the blanket at the edge of the bed. He slept surprisingly well, despite the fact that he was in a completely new home with a completely new environment. For starters, he didn't have a room all to himself. He was in Lip's old bed in the same room as Carl and Liam. They decided it was only fair that Lip got the bigger room to himself, Fiona's previous room, seeing that he's older. Ian didn't mind, though. In fact, bunking with his new brothers was exciting for him and he actually prefers it to sleeping on his own. Plus, Lip told him that when he's away at college, Ian could use his room if he needed the extra space. Fiona had moved up to the master bedroom, _“Can't believe I'm gonna be sleeping in the bed where Monica and Frank had sex.”_ But to accommodate the new member of their family, they did whatever they could. So in return, Ian told himself he has to do everything he possibly can to be the best brother he could be. With that thought, he rolls out of bed and makes it, piling his pillows neatly while Carl practically jumps off the top of his bunk bed, not bothering about the blanket hanging off the side. How he didn't break his legs is a mystery to Ian. 

“Hey,” Ian says to him. But he's half asleep so he just nods at Ian, then weakly points to Liam, who is up and bouncing up and down on his small bed. Ian nods, then goes over to pick up the small boy who is more than happy to see Ian, mumbling funny words that make no sense. “I-an, _ee_ -yan, Ian,” he attempts to teach Liam to say his name but Liam just giggles, getting the ‘an’ part of his name. Liam repeats his attempt at Ian's name several times, poking Ian's cheek every once in a while as he carries him down the stairs. 

“Good morning, monkey!” is the first thing Ian hears as he and Liam make it down the stairs, and though ‘monkey’ isn't exactly the best nickname, Fiona says it with such affection that it sounds insanely sweet, and Liam loves it because he practically launches himself at Fiona, who opens her arms to catch him, “Morning, Ian. Sleep well?”

“Yeah, you?” Ian greets her with a warm smile, and she shoots one back at him saying, “As well as a person can sleep in their parents' old bed.” That makes him laugh and it feels good to laugh. Ian doesn't remember a time where he would laugh at 7 in the morning or smell sausages and eggs on the table. But now he does. 

“Go ahead, take a seat and help yourself,” Fiona says to him, patting him on the shoulder and steering him towards the table. 

“Hi Ian!” Debbie says as he sits down at the table and she passes him a plate and fork. 

“Hey Debbie,” he chuckles, spooning scrambled eggs onto his plate. “You're in a good mood. Is everyone usually this happy at 7AM?”

“Not _Lip_ ,” she answers, pointing at the staircase with her fork, where Lip had come down, in only a pair of striped boxers and socks, a scowl on his face and lines on his forehead. “He's not a morning person,” Debbie whispers to Ian.

“I can tell,” he says, smiling. Then to Lip, he says, “Morning, Lip.”

At the sight of Ian, Lip perks up, the scowl replaced with his version of a smile. “Ian! Hey! How was your new room?”

“Pretty good,” he answers, then asks the same question, to which Lip replies with, “Fucking awesome. At least, until _Fiona_ decided to wake the dead with her yelling. I mean, what's the point of being on break if I'm gonna wake up early?”

“Hey, nobody fucking asked you to wake up,” Fiona says, her eyebrow raised in a warning.

“But then I'd miss the good breakfast you made, big sis,” Lip answers, smiling smugly as he walks behind Debbie and quietly snatches one of her sausages, earning a “ _Lip!_ ” and sharp glare from her. But Lip simply laughs, rubbing her head to say sorry before he sits down opposite Ian. 

Lip looks at Ian, then at Debbie, then back at Ian and he smiles. “You know, you two look alike,” he says, pointing at Ian and Debbie. “The hair, the freckles. Its cute.”

Ian grins at that, shooting a wink at Debbie who smiles back at him. She's really happy that Ian's here, that she has another brother. Yes, Debbie loves Lip, she really does, but Ian's different. Its not just the fact that Lip's away at college but Lip was almost like Fiona, refusing to let her grow up. It isn't a bad thing sometimes, when she's feeling sick and wants to be coddled. But when it comes to her friends and boys, _God_ , especially _**boys**_ , Fiona and Lip are the _worst_. Lip being harder on her because he's a guy and its his manly duty or something to take care of Debbie. She hopes Ian isn't like that. It would be nice to have a brother that had her back. Carl is her worst enemy and Liam can't even say her name properly, so she's glad Ian is here.

“Who do _I_ look like?” Carl asks suddenly, making everyone turn to him.

Fiona shakes his shoulders and says, “ _Me!_ ”

“Cool,” is all he replies, nodding as he toothily grinned.

“What about Liam?” Ian says, smirking at the little guy. That makes everyone laugh, even little Liam, who probably has no clue what just happened.

“Carl, Debbie,” Fiona says, squeezing both their shoulders. “School, _now!_ ”

Ian watches as they immediately obey her, putting their dirty plates in the sink, grabbing their brown lunch bags and muttering a goodbye to everyone before disappearing out the door. For a moment, he wonders what that's like, _taking orders from someone who isn't your parent_ , but he figures its something you do when you don't really have any parents to take orders from. Last night was when Ian found out about how the Gallaghers lived, with Fiona as their guardian, raising them their entire lives ever since she was in high school. In bed, Ian thought about how his life would be like if he grew up in the South Side, with Fiona raising him as her own. Would he still be the Ian he is now? Or would he be like Fiona, _pushing all her problems aside by focusing on anything other than herself?_ Or like Lip, _smart enough to be studying at a university?_ Maybe he would be like Debbie, _so lovely and caring to everyone and everything._ And maybe he would be like Carl, _finding thrill in jumping off of things and making things explode._ He didn't know, but he was in the South Side now and maybe soon, he will know.

“You okay?” Lip says, breaking Ian's trance.

“Hmm?” is Ian's reply as he turns to the eldest brother. He was too focused on thinking that he didn't realise he was waving around a forkful of food.

Lip smiles then points at Ian's flying food. “ _Oh_ ,” Ian says, sheepishly shovelling the food into his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No, man, just wondering if you're okay,” Lip says, shrugging. “Its, uh, a pretty big change, you know?”

“I know,” Ian sighs, but smiles nonetheless. “I'm okay. It'll take some time to get used to but I'm okay. And, uh, thanks.”

“For what?”

“Everything, I guess,” Ian answers, lifting one shoulder.

“Don't worry about it, kid,” Lip says, giving him a soft nudge on the head as he goes to put his plate in the sink. Ian knows he's only two years younger than Lip, but he can't help but smile at the nickname. Nicknames weren't all too big at his previous home. It was _nice_.

After clearing up, Lip and Fiona sit down with Ian in the living room, and Fiona clears her throat before she says, “Okay, its time for _The Talk_.”

Ian holds back a snort at the way she says it, her face deadpanned and serious. Then he realises she probably wasn't joking so he shuts his mouth, hiding his small grin. Fiona had said to him yesterday that they needed to have a talk but Ian was too tired to hear what the talk would be about, so he just nodded before drifting off to sleep. Now, he regrets not listening properly because he fears a sex talk is about to happen and he would rather _not_ do that with the two older siblings he just met.

“We need to talk about how you're gonna have to help around if you're living here,” Fiona says finally, making Ian sigh loudly in relief, which earns him weird looks.

“What? I thought it was gonna be a sex talk,” he mumbles, avoiding their eyes.

Lip laughs at that and says, “First thing you need to know about South Side: nobody ever _talks_ about sex. Sex is just sex. Everybody has sex so nobody is gonna tell you that you need to wear a condom when you do it so you don't knock up some hood girl because you gotta figure that shit out yourself, man.”

Ian was quiet for a second before his lips twist into an amused smile. “Wasn't that a sex talk right there?”

Lip rolls his eyes, but smiles at Ian's easy humour. “Whatever, man. Second thing you need to know about South Side: everybody's pretty fucking poor around here so everybody, _every new-secret-half-brother-cousin included_ , has to pull their weight around here. Especially since winter's coming. We need heat and shelter the most during winter and those things don't come for free.”

“Which is why we have the Squirrel Fund,” Fiona continues, which has Ian's face screwed up in confusion. “Its our yearly collection fund, where everybody who makes a little money has to chip in and put some money away in the fund every week or so. By the time winter comes around, we'll have enough money to keep us warm through it. So, if you're gonna be a part of this family, you're gonna be a part of the Squirrel Fund. That means: _get a job._ ”

“A job,” Ian repeats, nodding. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” Fiona grins then glances at Lip. “I've got work so spend the day with Liam, maybe take Ian on a tour, yeah? Fill him in on everything else?”

“Sure,” Lip says, reaching over to pick Liam up and pull him into his lap. Fiona kisses the top of Liam's head and ruffles both Lip and Ian's hair before heading out the front door. Fiona's a waitress at a local diner on some days and on some nights, she's a bartender at a club called Vertigo.

“So, what do you wanna know?” Lip asks Ian, while Liam climbs onto his back and tugs on his hair.

“Well, for starters, is your name really Lip?” Ian's mind had been begging to ask that question ever since he heard Lip's name because honestly, what kind of a name was _Lip_?

“No, actually, its-”

“ _Phillip!_ ” A loud voice says from the kitchen, making both Lip and Ian turn to the person speaking. Ian sees a dark-haired boy, probably older than himself, but definitely not taller. He's wearing a plain army green t-shirt and loose jeans, and his hair is slicked back, and Ian can't help but stare at him. That is, until he speaks again, “I've been replaced?”

“Yes, _Michael_ ,” Lip replies, nodding. “This young man is my new best friend and _you_ need to get the fuck out of my house.”

It is then that " _Michael_ " looks over at Ian, and Ian can almost swear that the guy gave him a once-over, but Ian refuses to believe that the smirk tugging at the guy's lips are because of him, so he pushes the thought away and glances at Lip, who has the most ridiculous grin on his face.

“Fuck you, bitch,” " _Michael_ " spits at Lip, then grins, making Lip burst into laughter.

Lip turns to Ian after he has calmed from his laughter and says, “Ian, third thing you need to know about South Side: _this_ is what a Milkovich is.”

“This kid ain't Southside?” " _Michael_ " says, a beer suddenly in his hands. “Well, I'm a Milkovich and _no_ , its not a fuckin' disease or some shit.”

“Hey Michael, I'm Ian.” Ian sticks out his hand too eagerly, but he realises it too late as the guy simply glances his offered hand and ignores it.

“Its _Mickey_ ,” he says strongly, taking a swig of his beer. “Nobody fucking calls me Michael except this dipshit. He's just jealous he ain't got a name as good as mine. I'm the best fuckin' Milkovich there is.”

“You obviously forgot _I_ exist,” a female voice says, then a body to accompany the voice appears. Her black hair straight and long, bangs falling into her eyes. A nose ring and several other piercings are what Ian notices most about her, while through the corner of his eye, he sees Lip staring at the more _obvious_ assets of her body which were almost as if they were on show with the small articles of clothing barely covering them. The girl saunters over to Ian, putting on a cute smirk as she says, “Hi, I'm Mandy Milkovich.” To which he answers, “I'm Ian.” Her smirk grows wider as she passes him, not so subtly brushing her arm against his and she says, “Cool.”

There was an awkward silence for a while as Mandy set herself gingerly on the couch, Ian standing as far away as possible from her. Lip drops into the seat next to Mandy while Mickey opts for the armchair, swinging his legs over the arm.

“Could you just fucking sit down?” It takes a moment for Ian to realise that Mickey is talking to him, so he just stares back at Mickey with a blank look, his green eyes wide and Bambi-like. “Jesus, man,” Mickey says, shaking his head at Ian. “Mandy makes a pass at every guy she meets. Don't fuckin' worry about it.”

“That is so not fucking true!” Mandy yells, launching onto her brother, pulling him into headlock.

“Ey! Ey! Alright! Get the fuck off me!” Mickey barks, desperately pushing his sister away. Once Mandy is off of him, he mutters something like, “ _Psycho bitch._ ”

Its too low for Mandy or Lip to notice, but Ian catches it and for some reason, it makes him smile. Unfortunately for him, his smile isn't one that is easily hidden and Mickey sees it, then arches his eyebrows at Ian. “The fuck you smilin' at, ginger?” 

The nickname makes Ian smile grow even bigger and he has Mickey sending him weird looks, but what Ian doesn't know is that Mickey's trying as hard as he can not to return Ian's bright grin, biting down on his lip till the need to be infected by Ian's smile goes away.

“Really sorry you had to go through that, Ian,” Lip says, getting up to join him standing and patting him on the shoulder. “The Milkoviches, _unfortunately_ , come with the package of living here.”

“Wait, he's _living_ here?” Mandy asks, genuinely confused. She thought Ian was maybe a friend Lip had made at college or something.

“Yeah, yeah,” is all Lip answers, still keeping his hand on Ian's shoulder.

“You wanna maybe tell us _why_? Or, you know, we could just pretend to know shit when we don't know jack,” Mickey sneers after no one says anything, shooting a dirty look at Lip.

“Oh, shit, yeah, I didn't mention that,” Lip says suddenly, laughing. “Fuck, right. Mickey, Mandy, this is my new half-brother/cousin, Ian Gallagher.”

“Half-brother/cousin...? What the fuck does that even mean?” Mandy says slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“It means, my mother, Monica is also Ian's mother, which makes him my _half-brother_ , but Ian's dad is my uncle, which makes him my _cousin_ too,” Lip explains, but he's left with empty stares which makes him roll his eyes. “My mom fucked my dad's brother and this is their lovechild. _Christ_ , do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Shit,” Mandy says, trying to sound serious, but she's almost amused and you can hear it in her bubbly voice. “Your family's even more fucked up than mine.”

“Well, fuck,” is all Mickey says, before taking another gulp of his drink. “ _Another one?_ Jesus, these fucking Gallaghers. Can't get rid of them.”

Mickey's tone is condescending, but Ian catches the smile on his face as he says it and Ian can't help the smile carving itself on his own face.

“This guy ever stop fuckin' smiling?” Mickey says, then laughs a little when Ian's face falls into a frown. “Well, don't start cryin' about it, ginger.” 

The nickname immediately perks Ian up, the wide Cheshire cat-like grin back on his face, making Mickey almost choke on his beer. “What the fuck, man? Don't smile like that, for Christ's sake, you look like you're gonna murder someone!”

Mickey wishes Ian would stop smiling, not because he thinks its creepy or some shit. In fact, its actually the opposite. Mickey doesn't know why, but Ian's smile makes him feel an ache in his chest and it makes him want to smile too, and Mickey wouldn't have that. _No fucking way._

“Not like you've never done it, Mick,” Mandy sneers, smiling smugly.

“You've murdered someone?” Ian asks, almost gaping but not missing the dirty glare Mickey sent to his sister.

Mickey shrugs. “More than one.”

“Wo-”

“ _Only_ if its necessary,” Mickey says quickly, not wanting to scare Ian off.

“But... When is it necessary to ever _kill_ someone?” Ian's innocence was almost cute, but his stupid fucking questions made Mickey want to strangle him. “So, you've been to jail or is it, like, _normal_ to kill people around here? But, no, seriously, why would you need to kill a person?”

“When they don't pay you for drugs, for instance,” Mickey says so casually, Ian isn't even aware of what he said until after a few moments, to which he responds with, “You're a drug dealer?!”

“Ey, don't give me that look, man,” Mickey says, scowling at the shock on Ian's face. “ _Everybody's_ a fuckin' dealer around here. Even Lip-”

“Mick, shut the fuck up,” Lip speaks before Mickey can.

"What, man? I just-”

“I said, shut the fuck up!” Lip's fists are clenched. He calms down and releases his fingers after a few long breaths and says, “Just don't say anything, alright?”

“Whatever, man,” Mickey mumbles, rolling his eyes.

“I'm sorry, I just- I wanted to show Ian the good parts of South Side before he has to see the fucking ugly parts,” Lip says, glancing at Ian.

“Well, fuck that,” Mickey says, “because you and I both know there ain't any good parts to this fucked up neighbourhood and what's so fucking bad about selling a couple of joints every summer to make a little extra cash? He doesn't have to be Southside to know we _all_ need the fucking money.”

Lip stares at Mickey, his lips twitch slightly every few seconds and Ian is almost sure that Lip is a second away from exploding with anger and Ian would rather not see that, so quickly, he says, “I've smoked pot once. It was, you know, _nice_.” 

At that, they all turn to him and he hears Mandy laugh a little, and even Mickey can't deny the smirk on his face, but Lip's expression is the funniest: a mixture of confusion and God, it almost looks like he's _proud_ of Ian.

“Nice enough for you to try it again?” Mandy asks, eyebrows raised and lips curled up. “I guess,” is Ian's answer.

“What about alcohol? You drink much?” Mickey then asks, wiggling his bottle of beer. 

Ian replies with, “Occasionally. At parties. Champagne, mostly. Never really gotten drunk before, though.” 

Mickey snickers, then says, “Its a plan then. To welcome you officially to South Side, we're gonna get you so wasted and so baked, you won't even remember that you're _not_ a Southside kid.” Mickey pauses and looks at Lip and he says, “If that's okay with you, big brother? Or is it too fucking ugly-”

“Fuck you, Mick,” Lip spits, then tightens his jaw. “Only if you're paying.”

Mickey's smug grin widens as he nods at his best friend, then says, “Get your ass in the shower and get dressed,” he turns to Ian, “You too, ginger.” 

Ian smirks, turning to go upstairs then his eyes land on someone. “What about Liam?”

“Oh, shit, yeah, Liam's here,” Lip sighs, walking over to pick up the small guy. “Who's gonna watch you today, hmm?” 

Almost immediately, all eyes turn to Mandy, who in turn, had nowhere else to look. “ _Fuck you all_ , no fucking way. I'm not gonna stay sober while you three get wasted. That's not fair!” 

Mickey groans and snaps, “Mandy, stop bein' such a fucking bitch and just watch the kid, alright? Let this be some guys day or some shit like that and you can play house with little Gallagher.”

“But-”

“How much?” Mickey asks, reaching into his pocket.

After pursing her lips for a few seconds, she caves, “Fifty.”

Mickey scowls. “Twenty.”

“Forty!”

“Jesus, Mandy, _thirty!_ ” Mickey's jaw is set and his mind is coming up with a billion profanities he wishes he could call his sister right now.

“Fine, thirty.” She shoots a glare at Mickey as she takes the money from him, then puts on a bright grin and she carries Liam out of Lip's arms.

 

“Ey, Gallagher! The fuck you doin' up there so long?” Mickey yells up the stairs at Ian, who hasn't come down even though they'd been shouting at him to hurry the fuck up for a while. Mickey is almost knocked over by the whirlwind that is Ian running down the stairs. Ian bares his teeth in a small grin at Mickey and mutters a sorry while he pulls on his boots. Mickey rolls his eyes in irritation and sticks a cigarette between his lips, but he's mostly doing it to stop himself from smiling.

Lip is waiting by the front door and he whistles to hurry the other two up. “Come on, ginger,” Ian hears Mickey say, before being yanked up by the collar of his bomber jacket and dragged to the front door.

Lip takes the cigarette straight from Mickey's lips then frowns as he says, “Its not even fucking lit, Mick.”

“I was about to before you snatched it out of my mouth, you prick,” Mickey retorts, then takes the smoke back from him and actually lights it this time.

They were about to close the door behind them when Mandy sticks her foot in the door, forcing it open as she yells, “Wait!” She lets out a loud breath of relief once she's pulled on a warm hat over Liam's head and she takes his hand and leads him out the door.

“The hell you doin', Mandy? I told you to stay home and watch the kid,” Mickey snaps, taking a long drag of his smoke.

“You said I had to watch the kid, you didn't say I had to stay home to do it,” she says all too smugly as she races Liam down the wooden steps. Mickey wishes he could knock the smirk right off her face. Especially when she says, “I'm coming with you, I just won't take anything to take care of Liam and to make sure all three of you fucking make it home tonight.” 

Mickey knows she means to make sure _Ian_ makes it home tonight. He saw the way Mandy looked at Ian, eyes full of lust and desire and for some reason, it made Mickey angry. But he also saw the way Ian looked at Mandy, or should he say, _didn't_ look at Mandy. He swears, Ian practically looked past Mandy as if she were nothing but a brick wall and most times, it would piss Mickey off that a guy would think that Mandy is any less beautiful than she is because he knows how fucking gorgeous his sister is, but knowing that Ian didn't find Mandy attractive in any sexual way almost made Mickey giddy inside. Then, he threw his cigarette to the ground and lit another one, just to remind him who the fuck he was, and that was someone who didn't even have the word _giddy_ in his dictionary.

Mickey didn't realise that they'd already been walking halfway to the Alibi and that he'd been chain-smoking through the pack in his hand until he hears Ian's voice say, “Aren't you cold?” He turns his head to see that Ian was talking to Mandy, who giggles at that. Since when does Mandy fucking _giggle_?

“A little bit,” she says, not so subtly batting her eyelashes at Ian, who in turn just smiles at her.

Mickey snorts, saying, “Then, maybe you should've put on something that actually covered your body for once.”

That earned him the finger, but he ignores it, lighting up another smoke. It was his... _Fuck_ , who knows how many he's had. He wouldn't be surprised if he coughed up a lung right there and then. He hears ruffling and _more fucking giggling _and he doesn't even have to look to know what's going on, but he looks anyway, and he's right. Ian had put his jacket on Mandy, _all that gentleman bullshit he wasn't surprised Ian was obliged to follow_ , and Mandy, being the bitch she was, practically undresses Ian with her eyes and Mickey feels fucking disgusted.__

__“You know, you're gonna kill yourself if you keep that up,” Ian's voice is suddenly beside him, and without the ridiculous jacket covering his body, Mickey can't help but notice his muscled physique and he almost chokes on the smoke he's inhaling._ _

__“Been smoking since I was 10 and I'm still living, so fuck you,” Mickey says, refusing to look at Ian._ _

__“Might not be living tomorrow,” Ian chimes, making Mickey's jaw tighten._ _

__“Jesus, _fine!_ Fucking take it, then,” Mickey snaps, holding out the cigarette to Ian. _ _

__Instead of throwing it to the ground like Mickey expects him to, Ian brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, before exhaling the white smoke through his nose, something Mickey had only seen long-time smokers do and he was pretty fucking sure no one could pull that off so perfectly their first time smoking, which meant..._ _

__“You've gotta be fucking kidding me, man,” Mickey says, trying to ignore the fact that his cigarette between Ian's lips looked better than it should. He wonders what else would look good between Ian's lips... _Fuck, Mickey, **stop**. Focus._ “You don't _drink_ , you've tried pot _once_ , but you're a fucking _smoker_?”_ _

__“Found a pack in my dad's study a while back, always wanted to try it and I sort of never stopped,” Ian says, shrugging, then keeps puffing on the cigarette till its burnt out. He doesn't ask Mickey for another one, though, and Mickey doesn't offer._ _

__They reach the Alibi and Liam is being swung around by Mandy and Ian finds it absolutely adorable, taking one of Liam's hands and swinging him forwards and backwards over the steps with Mandy supporting the other end. The five of them enter the half crowded bar, Mickey and Lip getting nods from the locals, probably from being here so often. Mandy gets some looks from guys and Mickey wishes he could gouge their eyeballs out with a spoon. His little sister was his favourite sibling and it was no doubt that he loved her, but sometimes, she was a downright bitch. This is the thought that goes through his head when he sees her whisper something to Ian, which makes him laugh loudly and Mickey's never seen anyone laugh that hard in this bar before having at least five drinks._ _

__“Yo, over here,” Mickey calls to Ian, motioning at the bar where he and Lip had taken a seat. Ian sends a warm smile at Mandy before leaving her to join them. “Ey, Kev, give us some shots,” Mickey says to the man behind the bar, a close friend of Mickey's due to his relationship with the Gallagher family, just as Ian takes a seat beside Mickey._ _

__Kevin eyes the redhead for a while, then looks back at Mickey, saying, “Hey, Mick, give me some ID.”_ _

__“Kev, come on,” Lip groans. “Its not like its the first time you've let us drink here and this time, we actually have a fucking reason to drink.”_ _

__“What, you celebratin' or something?” Kevin asks, then discreetly pours three shots of tequila for them._ _

__“ _Or something_ ,” Lip answers, before downing his shot. Mickey grins and does the same. Which leaves Ian, staring at the small shot glass, and the other two guys stare at Ian until he picks up the glass and takes the shot. They repeat this until they're all equally as buzzed and Mickey can't help but notice Ian's the happy kind of drunk. Lip is too, for a while, but a few more glasses and he gets to that stage where he's badmouthing every motherfucker within earshot distance. Mickey can take more than a couple of drinks and still not lose himself completely, as if his body's used to the alcohol and his mind has learnt how to control it. But one too many drinks and Mickey is the kind of drunk that picks a fight with anybody that so much as looks at him the wrong way and it usually ends up bloody, and most of the time, it isn't Mickey's own blood that he's cleaning off his hands. Which is why he tries not to drink too much, making that same decision for Lip and keeping Lip's glass empty after he slips into his happy phase. Who Mickey doesn't refrain from drinking is Ian, who just gets more and more excited every time he downs another drink. Mickey didn't think that Ian could ever smile bigger than he normally did, but right then, with the alcohol swimming though his veins, Ian's smile could almost split his face in two and _goddamn_ , it was fucking contagious because he had everybody in the damn bar grinning with him, Mickey included._ _

__“You know wanna know what's the first fucking thing this guy asks me when I open the door?” Lip says, a little to loudly to Mickey, pointing at Ian._ _

__“What?” Mickey asks, and he's genuinely curious._ _

__Lip laughs and stumbles over his words slightly before managing to speak a full sentence, “ _What's a Milkovich?_ ”_ _

__Ian bursts out laughing at that, realising what a stupid question it was and how idiotic he must've sounded that night, and he's almost leaning on Mickey as he's doubled over in laughter. Mickey laughs too. Its a pretty fucking stupid question and coming from Ian, Mickey isn't all too surprised, but what has Mickey laughing isn't the question or the way Lip had tried to imitate Ian's voice, its the fact that Ian finds himself so hilarious and Mickey wonders if Ian would laugh this much if he wasn't drunk off his ass. With the infectious smile he's got going on, Mickey doesn't find it all that hard to believe that Ian was capable of laughing so hysterically at something that wasn't even that funny._ _

__Mickey puts an arm on Ian's shoulder, pulling him up from his bent position and Ian simply grins ridiculously at him. Mickey shakes his head at the idiot, unable to hide his own bright smile, saying, “You're fuckin' Southside now, Ian Gallagher.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 2
> 
> So, how did you like this chapter? Were the Gallavich parts as fun to read as they were for me to write? Also, I know there's a lot of emphasis on Ian's smile but I'm insanely in love with his smile and I think he deserves it. Leave a comment to let me know what you think :)


	3. What really happened, Ian?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip takes Ian to get a job and Ian has an incident, which makes Fiona and Lip worry about him.

Fiona is sitting in Veronica's living room, entertaining Amy while Veronica changes Jemma's diaper.

“I need booze,” Fiona says as Veronica joins her in the living room, the small baby cradled in her arms.

“Sorry, Fi, you know we made a rule not to drink in front of the babies,” Veronica says, sighing. “What's up?”

Fiona's almost laughing as she says it, because its still hard to believe. “I have a new brother.”

“Frank knocked someone up?” Veronica says, not sounding all too surprised.

“No, actually, its Monica's,” Fiona says. “Its just not Frank's.”

“Monica had another baby?” Now, Veronica was shocked.

“Yeah, _17 years ago_ ,” Fiona laughs, but its an empty laughter.

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“He's 17 now,” Fiona says, sighing as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Damn, Fi, you do need a drink,” Veronica says, standing up to get something hard but Fiona stops her.

“No, its okay, I'm not really feeling it anymore. But thanks.” Fiona smiles and Veronica sits down beside her, pity written all over her face.

“So, how'd you find him?” Veronica asks.

“Uh, I didn't, actually. He found us,” Fiona answers. “Showed up at our door the other night, looking for Monica. Said he's her kid and _get this_ , his dad is Frank's brother so technically the kid's our cousin too.”

“Trust Monica to get pregnant with your uncle's baby,” Veronica mutters, shuddering. “So, what? He just came to meet his family?”

“Well, yeah, but he also needed a place to stay,” Fiona says, shrugging. “His parents died and he's got nowhere else to go.”

“Shit. So, you took him in?”

Fiona nods.

“Can you even handle that, Fi? _Five kids?_ ”

“Well, technically, he's almost an adult so for the most part, he can take care of himself and you know, maybe having another brother isn't so bad and he's a good kid, V. He's family, you know?” Fiona knows she probably bit off more than she could chew with the whole taking in another kid thing but she's determined to make the best of it.

“I know,” Veronica says, smiling at her best friend. “What's his name?”

“Ian,” Fiona answers, smiling. 

“What's he look like?”

“Like Debbie, actually. A taller, short-haired, boyish Debbie.”

“ _Boyish?_ ”

Fiona laughs, but nods. “Yeah, he's got a pretty face. Cute kid.”

Veronica frowns. “Not gonna work so well for him in this neighbourhood. Can he fight?”

“Said he went to military school and he's pretty well-built. Plus, Lip's really taken a liking to him so if he's ever in trouble, _and he probably will sooner or later_ , Lip's got his back. And I think he's become friends with the Milkoviches, I saw them all coming home together last night.”

“Is he at home now? Can I meet him?” Veronica says, eager to see this new Gallagher.

“He should be. I mean, he didn't come down for breakfast, but neither did Lip so I just figured I'd let him have a sleep-in,” Fiona replies.

“Who's having a sleep-in?” Kevin suddenly asks, wandering into the living room.

“Fi's new brother, Ian,” Veronica answers, raising her eyebrows.

“You have a new brother?” Kevin gapes at Fiona, then snaps his finger. “Wait! Is he a redhead? Like a boyish version of Debbie?”

Fiona lifts her shoulder at Veronica to say _I told you so_.

“That's him. Why? You met him?” Fiona asks.

“Sort of. I mean, Mickey and Lip brought him to the Alibi yesterday, said they were doing some Southside initiation shit and got me to give them some drinks,” Kevin says.

“ _Some_ drinks?” Fiona is standing now, arms crossed over her chest.

“Alright, they got pretty fucking hammered,” Kevin admits, grinning then quickly hides his smile when he sees Fiona's glare. “But don't worry about it, Fi! Mandy was with 'em, she was sober, she took care of them the whole day, made sure they didn't get into any shit.”

“Yeah, well, the kid didn't look like the type who drinks much so he's probably dying from hangover right now,” Fiona snaps, then turns to leave the house.

Veronica shoots a look at Kevin, smacking his arm and handing him Jemma. She hurries after Fiona, heading back to the Gallagher house, where they find Lip sitting at the dining table, shovelling cereal into his mouth.

“ _Ian?_ ” Fiona asks, eyebrows raised.

“Puking,” Lip mumbles, pointing to the bathroom. 

Fiona sighs, marching over to the bathroom and knocks on the door. “Hey, Ian?”

“Fio-” He starts, but he's interrupted by another wave of nausea as he retches out whatever's left in his body into the toilet.

“Hey, V,” Lip says, noticing her standing in the corner of the kitchen.

“Hi, baby,” she answers, then frowns as the sound of Ian's vomiting gets louder. “Did you really have to get the poor kid wasted?”

Lip shrugs, but smirks as he says, “Wasn't me. It was Mickey's idea!”

Veronica rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Right, because all of _Mickey's_ ideas go so well.”

After Ian's certain he's vomited every last bit there is to vomit, he flushes it all down and washes his face, cleaning out his mouth. He still doesn't feel so good, his head spinning and his movements unbalanced and stiff. He opens the door and faces Fiona, shame written all over his face and he braces himself for a yelling, but it never comes. Instead, he's being pulled into a hug and he hears Fiona ask him, “ _Are you okay?_ ” He's too shocked at Fiona's response to answer the question so he just nods weakly. She pulls away from him, but keeps her hands on both sides of his face, her eyes examining every bit of him.

“You look like hell,” she says finally, letting go of him with a sad smile. “Why don't you go take a hot shower and I'll make you something to make your head stop pounding?”

He nods again, to weak to actually say anything but he manages to crack a smile for her. He glances at Lip who is chuckling at him and Ian shakes his head with a sly smirk. Then he realises there's someone else in the kitchen, and he waves at Veronica, who's almost giddy at Ian's politeness. Its the first time Veronica has seen a Gallagher who actually has manners and she waves back at him. He takes his leave and drags himself up the stairs, back to his room, where he strips himself and wraps a towel around his waist. He heads over to the bathroom, which isn't exactly the biggest bathroom ever, but with the girly magazines and diapers and makeup and colognes and action figures, it feels as if everyone has a little part of them in the bathroom and Ian decides he wants to leave a part of himself in there too and he almost feels stupid for thinking it, but he goes back to his room anyway. He rummages through his bag until his fingers get twisted in a familiar metal chain. He pulls the object out and stares at it, smiling as he takes it back to the bathroom and hangs it on one of the empty hooks. Its the tags he wore back in military school, one engraved with a coded number and the other with ‘GALLLAGHER’. Its a part of his new life here but its also a part of his old life, and he doesn't feel so stupid for putting it there anymore.

Ian takes a shower and even though the hot water runs out after a few minutes, he keeps his head under the running water, in hopes that it will lighten the headache. _It doesn't._ He doesn't remember much of last night, but what he does remember is Mickey holding on to his shoulder and saying something to him, but he was too absorbed in the fact that Mickey's hand was on him to hear what Mickey had said. He remembers drinking all kinds of liquids, in different colours and different glasses. Some were small, and he had a _lot_ of those because Mickey kept asking if he wanted another and he couldn't find it in him to say no to Mickey, and it was those drinks that really hit him hard, even thinking about them made him dizzy. He had a few glasses of beer, those were in bigger cups, because Mickey said that beer is the best alcoholic drink you could ever have, and Ian believed Mickey. He doesn't remember a lot of what happened after they left the bar but he does remember Mickey rolling up a joint for him to smoke. He doesn't recall whether he enjoyed it, but he probably did because he remembers laughing all day long. He remembers Mickey teaching him something with the weed, it was called... _Smoke?_ _Shot?_ Hell, Ian doesn't remember, but what he does remember is Mickey taking the last drag of the pot, then blowing the smoke into his mouth, and he remembers how close Mickey's face was to his own, and he remembers how blue Mickey's eyes are, and he remembers Mickey's smile after he had managed to inhale the smoke without choking, and Ian doesn't know why Mickey is the only thing he remembers from last night.

Ian is dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans and he heads back downstairs where Lip, Fiona and the other lady were waiting for him. He knows they were waiting for him because they were staring at the staircase and doing nothing else. He shuffles across the kitchen uncomfortably and he says, “Was I really that long?”

“Longer than guys usually shower,” Lip answers but shrugs.

“Sorry,” Ian says, but Fiona shushes him, setting down an odd coloured drink in front of him. He glances at Fiona, his eyes wide. “Am I supposed to drink this?”

“Yes,” Fiona answers, then tilts her head. “Unless you're okay with having your head spin for the next couple of da-”

Fiona doesn't get to finish before Ian downs the drink, his gulps loud and almost excruciating. He lets out a breath when he puts the glass down, its contents gone. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and visibly shudders as he looks at the traces of the drink on his hand. “What's in this? _Wait_ , do I wanna know?”

“Not really,” Fiona answers, laughing slightly.

Ian grins at that, then his smile falters as he gives Fiona a sad look. “Fiona, I'm really sorry.”

Fiona's face falls because she hasn't seen Ian not smiling since that first night he showed up. “What for?”

“For getting drunk,” he says, looking down. “A-and for puking my guts out in the bathroom.”

When she hears that, Fiona's face breaks into a smile and she can't help but go over to Ian and wrap her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head on top of his. Fiona can't see it, but the smile is back on Ian's face because he doesn't remember anyone ever showing him this much affection, not even his own mother. Fiona sighs and pulls away from him, but keeps a hand on the top of his head and she says, “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for. Getting drunk is something every Gallagher does once they reach a certain age and its about time you had your turn. We all need to get a little wasted every now and then and I honestly don't mind if you wanna drink, if you can promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Ian answers.

“Don't become an alcoholic,” Fiona says with such seriousness that Ian finds himself nodding before she's even done talking. “Don't _ever_ become a drunk, you hear me? This family has enough addicts already.”

“I promise,” Ian says, a smile etching onto his face.

“Okay then,” Fiona says, giving his head a soft nudge. “And for the record, I don't remember a time when that bathroom didn't reek of vomit so don't worry about it, okay?”

Ian nods, and he feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders. How Fiona manages to keep the family in one piece while being the least strict guardian he'd ever come across is a mystery to Ian, but he finds it admirable nonetheless. _Fiona's amazing_ , he thinks and he almost wishes he had grown up here, but then his mind forms a picture of his late parents and he feels a pang in his chest. He doesn't have to think about it right then because Fiona finally introduces him to the other woman.

“Ian, this is Veronica, our neighbour and my best friend,” Fiona says, tugging on Veronica's arm. “V, this is Ian.”

“Hi, Ian,” Veronica says and Ian is taken aback when she pulls him into an embrace, but he hugs her back anyway. After she pulls away, grinning, she says, “You're a Gallagher now and that means you're _my_ family too. Fiona's like a second mom, so just think of me as your third. You're always welcome at my house, which is right next door.”

Ian says, “Got it, Veroni-”

“No, no, baby, you call me V now,” she says, interrupting him.

“Thanks, V,” Ian says, his lips pulling into a wider smile.

“You remember my husband, Kevin? He said he saw you yesterday at the Alibi,” Veronica says.

“The bar, right, yeah! You guys are married?” Ian asks, recalling the tall, dark-haired man from yesterday.

“Yeah, and we've got twin babies,” she answers, grinning at Ian.

“That's really great,” Ian says, and he means it.

“Okay,” Lip says suddenly, pushing his chair up to stand up and he claps his hands together. “Are we done here? Can we go?”

“Go where?” Ian asks, standing up too.

“We're gonna go get you a job, buddy,” Lip says, grinning at him. 

And Ian smiles for the millionth time at yet another nickname and he wonders how many more nicknames could they possibly call him and how long will it take him to not feel so ecstatic at being called ‘buddy’ and how he doesn't really care if he doesn't ever stop feeling that way.

Ian is forced to mutter quick goodbyes to Fiona and Veronica, because Lip is halfway out the front door by the time Ian has his feet shoved into his shoes and his jacket on his back. He races after Lip, who has a cigarette in his mouth and as soon as he catches up with Lip, he offers him the cigarette and Ian takes it without hesitation, sucking in and exhaling. He hands the smoke back to Lip and Lip takes a long drag before tossing it aside.

“So,” Lip starts, rubbing his hands together as he looks at Ian. “You've got two choices: there's an opening for a busboy at a cafe in town, where you'd actually have to bust your ass, or you could be a cashier at Kash and Grab, which is a convenience store that's owned by, well, Kash, and you get paid about the same amount for half the work.”

Ian takes a moment to consider it, then asks, “Is being a cashier easy?”

Lip laughs, throwing his arm over Ian's shoulders and steering him towards Kash and Grab. They reach there in no time and the store is almost empty, with the exception of Kash. Kash looks up from a magazine as soon as Lip and Ian walk in, and Ian feels the man's eyes on him so he ducks his head and shuffles closer to Lip, who thankfully doesn't notice or pretends not to notice that Ian is practically hanging off of him. Lip drags Ian to the counter where Kash is standing, his gaze still on the redheaded boy. Lip slaps his hands on the counter with a beat, shooting a grin at Kash and he says, “That cashier job still up for grabs?”

Kash nods and says, “Why? You want it?”

“Not me,” Lip says, then pats Ian's chest. “ _My brother_ , Ian.”

Ian is momentarily dazed when he hears how Lip calls him his brother without any sound of hesitation and he wonders whether Lip had rehearsed the line in his head repeatedly or if it had just come naturally, and Ian wishes – hopes – that its the latter because it makes him feel like he is finally where he was always meant to be and that is with his family and God, it felt good to be called someone's brother, and he replays it in his head just because of the joy he feels when he hears Lip's voice saying “my brother” and how it didn't sound forced or faked, it sounded real and Ian really fucking hopes its real.

“ _Ian?_ Ian, you still here?” Lip asks, shaking Ian's shoulders and snapping him out of his train of thoughts and Ian is completely unaware of what exactly is happening so his big eyes flicker all over the place and at one point, they clash with the older man's eyes, and it suddenly feels hot in there even though the temperature was dropping every single day, and Lip is still shaking him, and it feels like its all too much, and Ian feels a sudden need to sit down, but he feels Lip's fingers grip his arm before his legs give way, and he's suddenly jolted back to reality and he blinks wildly, standing up straight and breathing heavily. Lip is holding both his arms now and he's looking straight at Ian and Ian can see the worry etched into his features.

“Ian, hey, you okay there, buddy?” Lip asks, trying to smile but he can't bring himself to do it when Ian looks like he just saw a ghost. “You feeling sick or something? We can go home, if you want. You already got the job, but we could always come back tomorrow.”

But Ian can't let himself become a hassle, not when Lip went out of his way to even look for job openings and take Ian to the job when he could've left Ian to do everything on his own. Not when the survival of everyone in the Gallagher home through the winter depends on the money in the Squirrel Fund, money Ian could earn if he just pulled himself together and got to work. So, after a few long breaths, he says, “ _No._ ”

Lip licks his bottom lip at Ian's vague answer, then asks again, “ _No_ , you're not feeling okay or _no_ , you're not sick?”

“No, I don't wanna go home and no, we don't have to come back tomorrow,” Ian says firmly.

“Ian, you just had a- a moment, I don't know, but if you need some time, its really okay-”

“I'm fine, Lip,” Ian interrupts, offering a sincere smile. “I'm okay. _I swear._ ”

Lip takes a moment to really look at Ian and the colour's back in his skin, and his eyes are bright again, and he's got that smile that even Satan himself couldn't argue with, so Lip caves in and says, “You swear?”

“Yes.”

“I'm not gonna come back and find you sprawled out on your back, staring at the ceiling with crazy eyes?” Lip's eyebrows are raised and his hands are still on Ian, as if letting go him would make him crumble to ashes.

Ian laughs at that, then punches Lip's chest playfully and says, “Not likely.”

Lip sighs, but finally releases his grip on Ian when he says, “I'm taking your word for this, Ian. You better be living when I come back, or I might just kill you myself.”

Ian knows its meant to be a threat, but he grins at it anyway, then tells Lip, “Seriously, Lip, everything's fine. Go home, watch tv, don't worry about me.”

Lip rolls his eyes, but slowly moves to leave the store. “Be good!” is the last thing he yells at Ian before disappearing down the street.

Ian lets out a huge breath, then turns to the counter, where as presumed, Kash is almost staring at Ian. “Are you okay?” Ian asks him, his voice stiff and awkward.

Kash immediately answers with, “Yeah, fine, great, good. You?”

Ian tries to hide the fact that he thinks Kash is slightly strange and replies with, “I'm okay, yeah.”

There's silence until Ian clears his throat and says, “Anyway, uh, thanks. For the job. I really needed it.”

“No, thank _you_ , really,” Kash says, waving his hand. “I can't really be cashier and manager and stuff at the same time, so I'm the one who should be grateful.”

“Right, yeah, no problem.” Then Ian asks, “What happened to the previous cashier?”

“Got scared away,” Kash answers, shrugging as if it happened often.

“By who?” Ian asks, but all Kash says is, “You'll see.”

“Okay then.” Ian eyes the counter then speaks, “Should we- You know, I can take over now.”

“Right, yeah.” Then Kash steps out of the counter, letting Ian move past him to get behind the cashier and Ian is trying his best not to entirely give away his uneasiness as he passes Kash.

Even though Ian has been looking at everything _other_ than Kash, he still feels Kash's eyes on him and it doesn't feel all too great.

•

Fiona's cleaning up the living room when Lip comes home, immediately dropping himself onto the couch that she had just rearranged neatly. “Well, _thanks_ ,” Fiona says, sarcasm heavy in her voice as she rolls her eyes. Lip just grunts in response. Its then that Fiona realises something is wrong because normally, Lip would've made some sort of smartass comment, so she pulls up his legs and slides herself onto the couch before letting his legs rest on her lap. “What the hell's going on with you?”

“Not me,” Lip mutters, folding his hands behind his head as he closes his eyes. “Ian.”

“What about him? Something bad happen?” Fiona is concerned because Lip sounded so... _defeated_.

“I think there's something wrong with him, Fiona,” Lip says, his eyes snapping open to see lines on his sister's forehead, obviously not understanding what Lip was saying.

“What, did he do something? What happened?”

“He... He had a _thing_ , back at Kash's store. I don't know, Fi, at first, he just spaced out and you know he does that a lot, probably got a lot of shit on his mind, who can blame the guy. But I wanted to tell him he got the job, so I kinda shook him and he- he sort of freaked out. Eyes moving around in every possible direction, face is practically drained of blood, and he starts breathing loudly, like, _really loudly_. And I saw his knees start bending, like he was about to collapse so I gripped him really hard and sort of squeezed him, and he just snapped out of it, like he was waking up from a nightmare or something. It took him a while to start breathing like normal again and after that, he looked fine and he acted fine and he said he was fine, but... It wasn't fucking normal, Fi.”

Fiona doesn't say anything, because honestly, what could she say? _"I think our new brother is crazy"_? So, she settles for, “We'll talk to him when he gets home, whether he's fine or not. Okay?”

“Okay.”

•

“Everything okay, Ian?” Kash asks, coming in through the back entrance of the store after he'd went to run an errand.

“Yeah,” Ian answers, printing out a receipt for a customer who takes it from him without any thank you and he tries not to scowl at them. Kash had taught him earlier how to work the cashier machine and after a few tries, he'd gotten the hang of it, and there were hardly any customers, so he'd been having a pretty good day so far. Little did he know his day was about to get a lot better, when a familiar face walks through the main entrance, the bell jingling as he pushes the door open.

“Ey, Gallagher!” Mickey tries not to sound so happy to see Ian as he recognises the red hair, but the grin on his face probably gives him away. Mickey wasn't all too drunk last night, so he remembers almost everything. From officially declaring Ian a Southside to Ian going at one drink after another to teaching Ian how to shotgun weed. Mickey doesn't think there was ever a split second where Ian didn't have that ridiculous smile on his face or looked like he was fucking floating or something. Mickey was right about Ian being the happy kind of drunk, but he didn't expect Ian to be the honest kind of drunk. The entire day, Mickey had heard Ian drunkenly admitting things like “ _I had a bird that died_ ” and “ _I had no friends back home_ ” and “ _I think I killed my bird_ ” and at one point, he even blurted out “ _You have great eyes_ ” to Mickey but that was right after he had said “ _I climbed the Eiffel Tower once_ ” so Mickey just told him “ _Fuck off_ ” and slid another drink towards him. Mickey wonders if Ian remembers any of the things he said yesterday and part of him hopes that he doesn't remember anything, but there's a voice in his head that won't stop wishing that he does remember. Mickey doesn't ask Ian, though. He doesn't want to. So, he asks Ian something else, “How was your head this morning?” He tries to make it sound like he was mocking Ian, but he really does want to know how Ian felt because Ian was practically stumbling over his own feet when they walked home last night.

“Pounding,” Ian answers, touching his temples as if talking about it would make the headache resurface. 

Mickey smirks at that then says, “Fiona give you her special drink?” He had woken up with a hangover one too many times at the Gallagher house and every fucking time, Fiona forced him to drink the disgusting mixture.

Ian nods, then makes a retching face. “If you know what's in it, _don't tell me_.”

“I do happen to know what's in it,” Mickey says to him smugly. “Its raw eggs, bits of old cheese, some kind of fucking vegetable-”

“Jesus, Mickey, don't,” Ian pleads, his face already scrunched up in disgust and the only reason he isn't vomiting now is because there's nothing left in his body to throw up.

Mickey laughs at Ian, but its more of a _I think you're a fucking idiot_ laugh than a _I think you're funny_ laugh, but its a laugh nonetheless and it widens Ian's smile. And Ian's too absorbed in Mickey's short-lived laughter to realise that Kash had been staring at the two of them, until Mickey snaps, “Why don't you just take a fucking picture? Your eyes are gonna get tired.”

Kash doesn't say anything, and neither does Ian, and Ian knows that it wasn't the nicest thing a person could say and if it were anyone else, he probably would've called them out for it, but it was Mickey, and Ian knows he shouldn't be smiling but he is. Kash isn't smiling, though, he just sighs, then walks away, leaving only Ian and Mickey in the store. Mickey doesn't say anything about it, but instead walks over to the candy aisle, running his fingers over the chocolates. He picks up a Snickers bar then says to Ian, “I'm taking this,” before pocketing the chocolate.

“Hey! Mickey!” Ian shouts as Mickey slides the bar into his pocket. “You can't do that.”

“Do what?” Mickey's voice is muffled because there's a cigarette in his mouth and he's fumbling with his lighter, unable to light it.

Ian walks over to him, taking the silver lighter from his tattooed fingers and lights up the stick for him, ignoring Mickey's hard gaze. Then he says, “You can't steal.”

“It ain't stealing if I tell you,” Mickey argues, puffing on his cigarette.

“Its stealing if you don't pay,” Ian shoots back, going back behind the counter.

Mickey rolls his eyes, but walks over to the counter anyway. “You working here everyday?” is what he asks Ian.

“Just Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,” Ian answers, unsure as to why that question came up. He got his answer.

“Good. Guess I'll just come back when you're not working then,” Mickey says, then waves around his burnt out cigarette and Ian absentmindedly pushes an ashtray towards him and he squashes the stick in it.

Ian just tilts his head at Mickey, giving him a _that's not funny_ look and its one of the first times Mickey's seen Ian not smiling and for some reason, it almost makes him feel guilty. Almost. So Mickey caves in, smacking the bar of chocolate down on the counter, saying, “Jesus, fine, I'll fucking pay for a tiny piece of chocolate that I'm gonna finish in two fucking bites because I'm this close to punching your stupid abused puppy face.”

Almost immediately, Ian's grinning at that and he says, “That will be 2 dollars. Cash or credit card?” That earns him a flip-off and Mickey practically throws the money at him, but Ian doesn't miss the small curve at the corner of his lips. “Nice doing business with you!” Ian calls after him as Mickey leaves the store, the Snickers bar half eaten already.

“Fuck you!” is what Ian hears back and it makes him laugh.

•

The walk home from the store with Lip is quiet and awkward and even though the two brothers were sharing a cigarette again, Ian couldn't help but be reminded of that first night he showed up, how hostile Lip was to him as soon as he mentioned Monica. Ian didn't want to think that Lip was beginning to grow cold towards him, not when they had just started to get close, but with the lack of conversation and brisk movements, Ian is forced to consider the possibility, no matter how bad it makes him feel. As if Lip could read his mind, he suddenly halts in front of Ian then wraps him a big hug. Ian doesn't know why he does that, but he doesn't care, he just hugs Lip back, probably tighter than necessary.

“I'm not mad at you,” Lip says into Ian's ear, and Ian can hear the slight quiver in his usual cool voice. “I'm worried about you, Ian.”

Ian's body goes rigid, because now he knows what this is all about. Its about his psychotic break back at the store. It really wasn't a big deal and he really wishes Lip would just put it behind him. But its obvious that that wasn't gonna happen because after they had pulled away and made it to the front of the house, Ian immediately sees Fiona waiting on the porch, a similar worried look on her face. Ian isn't at all surprised that Lip told her, but he isn't angry because Lip probably did it in his best interest but he isn't too ecstatic to be bombarded with questions by Lip or Fiona or even a doctor, God forbid they decide to bring him to one. Ian just wants to say that he's fine and he wants people to actually believe him.

When they reach Fiona, Ian notices the glances that she and Lip pass to each other and he's almost sure they're trying to decide who should start the interrogation and he sees Fiona's jaw tighten so he figures that its her and he braces himself for the millions of questions he'd been asked before: “ _Are you sick?_ ” “ _What's wrong with you?_ ” “ _Is it dangerous?_ ” But the question that leaves Fiona's lips is, “ _You like pizza?_ ” And Ian feels a rush of relief spreading through his body and he nods, letting Fiona steer him inside, straight to the living room where everyone, including Veronica, Kevin and their babies, sat with a bunch of boxes of pizza, staring at the tv screen that was showing a football game.

Ian sits down with everyone else and they say “Hey, Ian!”, and they offer him pizza, and they ask him how his new job was, and they laugh when he tells them he didn't really do much, and they eat more pizza, and they watch the game, and they cheer when a certain team scores, and Ian cheers with them, and he's sure he doesn't know who they're supporting but he cheers anyway, and it doesn't feel like he's in a room with a group of strangers, but it feels like he's at home with his family, and he realises that its something he's always wanted to feel and God, he's lucky to be here.

Ian has a good night with them and momentarily, he forgets about the incident at work, until he's lying in bed, with Fiona and Lip sitting at the edge of the bed. He's tired, from doing what he doesn't really know, or maybe he's not tired, maybe he just wants to avoid the conversation that's about to happen, maybe he just wants to close his eyes and hide under his blanket. But he can't. So, he sits upright and stares blankly at his two older siblings, and no one really says anything, so he does and he says, “I know what this is about and I just want to say that I'm fi-”

“You weren't fine, Ian,” Lip says firmly, his jaw clenching. “I saw you and you weren't fine. Jesus, Ian, you almost collapsed!”

Fiona has her hand on Lip's arm, as if to make sure his voice doesn't raise any higher because she sees the look in Ian's eyes and its not a good kind of look, so her other hand reaches for Ian's and she squeezes his hand, and his shoulders visibly relax, and she says as softly as she can, “What Lip means is we just want to know what's going on, Ian. From what Lip told me, whatever it is that happened to you, it wasn't good. We just-” She sighs. “What really happened, Ian?”

“I don't know,” Ian mumbles, casting his eyes down like a child. “It just... _happened_. I didn't do it on purpose.”

“Of course you didn't. We know that. But what if it happens again? We don't want you to get hurt, Ian,” Fiona says, frowning at him.

Ian sees how much worry there is in both their eyes and he realises that they're only doing this because they care about him, which is why he feels terrible when he lies to them and says, “Its not gonna happen again. I guess I was a little out of it today and I just had a moment. But, really, Fiona, Lip, I'm okay.”

Ian knows he shouldn't lie and he knows he's the kind of guy you can't really turn down and he knows what Fiona will say, even before she says it, so he isn't surprised when he hears, “Okay. _Okay._ You're okay.”

Ian smiles and he repeats himself, “I'm okay.” And Fiona goes over to kiss his forehead and its the nicest gesture he's ever come across and he feels overwhelmed with happiness that he almost regrets the lie he told, but he knows he did it for the better and no one needs to know the truth, not yet. Fiona leaves after saying goodnight, leaving Lip looking at Ian and Ian knows Lip doesn't believe him, but he also knows Lip won't say anything about it so he just nods when Lip says, “You just take care of yourself, you hear me, kid?” And with that said, Lip leaves and Ian's left alone with an aching pit of guilt in his stomach and all he hopes for is that he doesn't give away his own lie too soon because he knows more than anyone that he's not okay. _And it will happen again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 3
> 
> Can anyone guess what's up with Ian? Comment! :)


	4. You really think I'm pretty?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mandy get to know each other a little better and Ian's defensive attitude gets Mickey into some trouble.

“Is Mickey the one who's been scaring off the workers here?” Ian asks suddenly, as he's putting money into the register.

Kash is restocking beverages but he stops to turn to Ian. “What do you think?”

“That all he does? Steal candy?” Ian has his hands on the counter and he tries not to sound so enthusiastic to be talking about Mickey.

“Occasionally,” Kash answers, turning back to the fridge, mainly because he doesn't like the look Ian's gets in his eyes whenever the topic of Mickey comes up. And maybe its wrong – _no, its **definitely** wrong_ – for Kash, a married man and a father, to be attracted to a teenage boy but he can't help but find himself wanting Ian. But Ian doesn't want him. Its obvious he doesn't.

“And on other occasions?” Ian knows he's asking way too many questions but Mickey isn't exactly an open book and he knows Mickey thinks every question he asks is “ _another stupid fucking question_ ” and most of Mickey's answers are “ _fuck you, Gallagher_ ” and so, Ian needs to find other ways to figure out Mickey Milkovich, even if it means asking his creepy boss, who still won't keep his eyes off Ian but Ian's in too deep with trying to know Mickey that he can't be bothered with Kash's stares.

“Sometimes he takes more,” Kash replies. “Bread, soup, drinks mostly. And if its a good day for him, he might just sock a person in the eye for giving him the wrong look.”

“That how you got that black eye?” Ian asks, glancing up at Kash, who is now leaning against the wall by the fruit aisle, sporting a bruised left eye.

“No, uh, this was something else,” Kash says quickly, but he's lying. It was Mickey who punched him, because he had tried to tell Mickey to back off. It was a bad idea, but he didn't want Ian to know that he couldn't defend himself from someone as tiny as Mickey, and Mickey really was tiny.

“Right. Well, uh, he actually paid the other day,” Ian mutters, shrugging and he doesn't know why he's defending Mickey's honour but he doesn't feel bad doing it.

“What?”

“Mickey, I mean,” Ian says, straightening up. “On my first day here, he paid for a Snickers bar. He didn't want to, at first, but then he did.”

“Oh,” is all Kash says. Then, “ _Congratulations._ ” But it doesn't sound the least bit sincere and Ian has to fake a smile, but not for long because then Kash says, “Actually, I just remembered I have something to do. So I'll just- I'll be back.”

“Okay,” Ian mumbles and as soon as he's gone, Ian lets out a breath of relief because he honestly can't shake the uneasiness that comes with Kash's presence. Its quiet in the store and its lonely, so Ian slides down to the floor behind the counter and just sits there with his legs stretched out, tugging at a loose thread on his jeans. He thinks he hears someone in the store, but the bell on the front door doesn't ring so he doesn't bother getting up. Then suddenly, he hears, “ _Boo!_ ” and he's literally jumping to his feet, his heart hammering out of his chest. Then he sees who it is that decided to give him the scare of his life and he lets out a sigh, whether its one of relief or one of frustration, he really isn't sure. 

“Jesus, Mandy, don't do that,” he says, breathing slowly so his heart can stop beating so fast. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“That's... _sweet_ ,” Mandy says, then she grins.

“How'd you even get in here?” he asks her, recalling that he hadn't heard the bell ring.

“Back entrance,” she answers, then adds, “Mickey makes me help him steal some shit if our brothers are in jail or something, so I use the back door.”

“I thought only Kash has the key to that door,” he says, eyebrows furrowed.

“I've got lock picking skills,” she says, winking at him.

“I see then,” Ian says, unsurprised, a smile curving onto his lips. “Well, how'd you know I was behind here? Wait, no, _don't tell me._ You've got x-ray vision skills too, don't you?”

She smacks his arm at that, but she laughs anyway. “Shut up. I saw you on the security footage, genius.” She points to the tv screen hooked up above them and she's right, there's a portion of the screen that's showing them right now.

“Wait a minute,” Ian says, glancing at the screen, then at all the security cameras hooked up around the store. “There are security cameras, but Mickey still steals from here?”

“Mickey doesn't give a shit,” Mandy says, snorting a little. “He's been in and out of the system too many times to care if he's chucked back in or not.”

“He's insane,” Ian chuckles, then asks, “Hey, what are you doing here anyway? You always spend your free time in empty convenience stores?”

“Only when there are cute cashiers at the register,” she shoots back at him, giving him a sly smirk.

“So, why are you here _now_?” Ian asks, eyebrows raised.

Mandy laughs, then pushes herself up to sit on the counter and shakes her head at him. “Ian Gallagher, stop with the modesty. You're cute, and you know it, _I know you do_.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ian's smile is teasing now, and his chin is his palm as he looks up at Mandy through his eyelashes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “What makes you say that?”

“ _That_ is what makes me say it,” she exclaims, shoving his head lightly to make him stop giving her the smoulder and he laughs. “That fucking look right there.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, still laughing and he straightens up. “So, you're here because I'm here?”

“Exactly,” she answers and she gives him a smirk that's oddly similar to her brother's.

“Why?”

“I haven't seen you since that first day we met,” she says, pouting her lips. “And I wanted to ask you what time your shift ends today.”

Ian glances at his watch then says, “In about an hour or so. Why?”

“Can we go out then?” she asks, her eyebrows raised expectantly at him.

“I don't know, Mandy,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It'll be kinda late, don't you think?”

“Oh, come on, Ian!” she pleads and she grabs his hands, squeezing them. “I work weekends so today is my only day off left this week, and I really wanted to hangout with you.”

“You work?” is what he asks, and her shoulders slump, and she lets go of his hands.

“Yeah, at this waffle place in town,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “They make you wear this hideous uniform and a hat, with a _squirrel_ on it.”

Ian smiles and this time, he takes her hands instead. He says, “I think you'd look pretty in it. In anything, really.”

Mandy smiles at that, and at Ian's hands around hers, and she asks, “Is that a yes?”

He starts to say something, but she cuts him off with a “Please? We don't even have to _go_ anywhere! We could just walk around, maybe swing by the park. I just wanna talk. I don't really have people to talk to. So, please, Ian?”

He knows how she feels, not having anyone to talk to, so he agrees and she grins, hopping off the counter. “I'll be back in an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” he says and he's smiling too.

“Okay,” she repeats, walking backwards out the front door and he watches her until she's completely out of his sight.

“Got a date with Mandy Milkovich, huh?” Kash suddenly says, and Ian is startled because he didn't even notice that Kash had come back.

“How long have you been standing there?” Ian asks, frowning at him.

“Not bad for a new kid in town,” Kash comments, a blank look on his face. “But I'd be careful with her if I were you.”

“How long were you there?” Ian repeats himself, firmer this time, his jaw tightening.

“Long enough to know you might get herpes tonight,” Kash chimes, a little smile playing on his face and Ian almost wishes he could smack it off.

“What the hell is your problem?” Ian snaps, his fists clenching on the counter.

“I'm just saying, Mandy Milkovich is a walking STD,” Kash replies so casually, as if he didn't just insult an innocent girl.

“What did she ever do to you? She's done nothing wrong!” Ian's voice is raised and he's trying his best not to just strangle the guy right now.

“Well, thanks to you, now I know she's broken into the back entrance of my store and she's stolen from me, so yeah, she _has_ done something wrong.” Kash has his arms crossed over his chest and he has this smug look on his face and it makes Ian even angrier.

“You're a dick, you know that?” Ian sneers, narrowing his eyes at Kash.

“So is Mickey, but I don't recall you getting on his back about it,” Kash argues, eyebrows raised.

Ian slams his hand on the counter and Kash flinches. “Look, I appreciate you giving me the job and everything, but I think you should just stay the hell out of my business. And if you don't mind, for the love of God, _quit staring at me._ ”

•

Mandy's waiting outside the store in exactly an hour and Ian wonders if she really even left at all, but then he sees a pack of smokes and a lighter in her hand that weren't with her before so he figures she did leave. He shrugs on his jacket and leaves the counter, his face is tight and he refuses to look at Kash. He moves to leave the store but Kash suddenly speaks, “Ian, I'm-”

“Stay the hell out of my business, remember?” Ian shoots, not bothering to face him and maybe Ian should've given the guy a chance to talk but not when poor Mandy is shivering outside, unaware she had been the victim of judgement by a guy who hadn't earned any right to badmouth her and Ian wouldn't have it. So he ignores whatever else Kash has to say and he just walks out of the store, where Mandy greets him with a big smile. He says hi to her and she sticks a cigarette in his mouth, and he accepts it with a mumbled thanks, and she lights it for him. He doesn't realise his jaw is still clenched with frustration until Mandy takes the stick from his lips and takes a drag, saying, “Jesus, Ian, what's with the bitch face?”

His face visibly relaxes and he manages to put on a smile, saying, “Give me that,” as he took the smoke back from her. “Its nothing,” he mutters. “Just Kash being an asshole.”

“Yeah, guy's a creep,” Mandy comments with a grimace. “Its the only reason I don't mind taking shit from him. Kinda deserves it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ian's got a half-smile on his face now and his cigarette is almost burnt out, so Mandy lights one of her own, then passes it to him when he's done with his.

“Fuck, yeah,” she says, taking back the cigarette and she wonders at the rate they're going, _will the entire pack even last them?_ “This guy at school, Greg or something, yeah, he used to work at Kash and Grab, until one day, Kash actually _grabbed_ him, like right about here.” And Ian feels Mandy's hand squeeze his ass and he jumps, making her laugh.

“Was that guy serious?” Ian asks, puffing on yet another cigarette and he's wondering the same thing Mandy was, _whether one pack of smokes was enough to get them through the night._

“Well,” Mandy shrugs. “Greg's usually on something at one point or another so, who knows? I mean, I just know that he was working there and one day, he just wasn't. Well, what did Kash tell you about the previous workers?”

“Said Mickey scared them off,” Ian says, letting out an empty laugh, shrugging his shoulders.

“That's total bullshit,” Mandy exclaims, shaking her head.

“Is it, though?” Ian asks, raising his eyebrows at her.

She shrugs, then she laughs. “Probably not.” 

And he laughs too. Then suddenly he asks, “Wait, you're my age, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You're still in school, then?” It only just hits him that neither Mickey nor Mandy were in school the other day when they had first met. But Mickey is Lip's age and that means he's done with high school and he doesn't exactly seem like the college type of guy so Ian figures education is out of Mickey's life now.

“On and off,” she answers, lifting one shoulder.

“What does that mean?” And he's genuinely curious, because school was always something he thought everyone just had to go through, every single day. He guesses it just works differently around here.

“Some days I go and some days I don't,” is her answer and she says it with such certainty that he thinks she believes it isn't a wrong thing to do.

“What, like, by choice?” he asks, and for the hundredth time, he takes the cigarette from her lips and he thinks they've probably left a trail of smokes on the ground from the store.

She rolls her eyes, then punches his shoulder lightly. “Don't get on my ass about this, okay? I don't exactly see you running to school every morning either.”

“That's because I was kicked out of school,” he says, smirking at her and she gapes at him in disbelief.

“No way, seriously? _You_ got kicked out of school?” He nods, but she still can't believe it. “Shit, even Mickey didn't get kicked out.”

“He graduated?”

“God, no,” Mandy snorts, then adds, “Dropped out in senior year.”

Ian laughs at that, more surprised that Mickey managed to make it through three years in the first place than the fact that he dropped out. Then Mandy suggests, “You could always come to my school. I mean, semester's almost over, but you could.”

He sighs, then realises they've walked all the way to the playground and he says, “I've never been to a normal high school before. Plus, all the paperwork, getting transferred and enrolled and shit, its a bit complicated.”

“Oh, come on, just admit it,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows at him. “You actually loved being kicked out of school and you don't wanna go back.”

“Maybe,” he says with a loud laugh and she can't help but smile at his bright face. “But I do sort of want to know what its like to go to public high school.”

“I could take you one day, if you want,” she says, grinning at him. “We don't have to go for classes. We could just roam around the halls, talk a bit, have lunch, smoke-”

“We've been doing that a lot, haven't we?” He laughs, stomping out another cigarette and he points to the almost empty pack. “How many?”

She flips the top to check and she says, “Three. One each, then whoever gets past the monkey bars first get the last one. Deal?”

Before Ian can say “Deal”, Mandy's already racing to the monkey bars so he yells “ _Mandy!_ ” and chases after her, jumping up and hooking himself onto the first bar while she's already on the third, laughing her ass off at him. But he has the body of a trained soldier so he catches up to her on the fifth bar, sticking his tongue out at her cheekily, then swings onto the next bars and reaches the end before she does. She frowns down at him as she's swinging on the eighth bar, then she suddenly says, “ _Catch!_ ” And Ian doesn't have time to respond because she's already letting go of the bar and she's falling so he races to her, just in time to catch her in his arms.

“Mandy...” he whines, his arms aching at the sudden weight in it and he sets her down.

She winks at him and whispers, “My saviour.”

“I still get the last smoke,” he says, a cheeky smile on his face and she rolls her eyes, taking out one stick for herself then tossing the almost empty box at him. He catches it and pulls one out and sticks it between his lips and he lets her light it for him after she lights her own. They don't say anything but they start their walk back home, both ruining their lungs with the cigarettes but it keeps their bodies warm in the near winter weather and they walk close together because that keeps them warm too. Its when Ian is sharing the final cigarette with her – _they both knew they would share it in the end, regardless of who won on the monkey bars_ – that she says, “Thanks, Ian. For talking to me.” 

And he smiles at her and he says, “Thanks for talking to me too, Mandy.” 

Then she asks, “You really think I'm pretty?” 

He answers with, “I think you're beautiful.” Then, her hand finds his and he realises that she's not bad at all. In fact, she's probably one of the best people he's met here and he's glad that he did.

•

Fiona is clearing up dinner when she hears a knock on the door, but its the back door and she wonders why anyone bothers knocking there, when usually they just barge in. But when she opens it, she sees Tony and she's not so surprised that he chose not to break the door down.

“Hey Tony,” she says, giving him a smile. “What's up?”

“Hi Fiona,” he says, awkwardly baring his teeth in a grin. “I'm actually here on police matters.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “Why? Any of my kids in trouble?”

“Uh, no, not _your_ kids, but I'm looking for Mickey Milkovich,” he says, then adds, “Is he here?”

Fiona flashes a smile then says, “Hold on a second.” She steps over to the staircase and yells, “WHICH MILKOVICH IS IN MY HOUSE?”

“Mandy's with me!” A response comes quickly and Tony asks, “Is that Lip? He sounds different.”

“No,” Fiona says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Its, uh, Ian. My other brother.”

“Since when is there an Ian-”

“Technically, he's my half-brother but yeah, its a long story,” Fiona sighs, then shouts, “IS MICKEY HERE?”

“No!” Ian yells back and Tony is still shocked that there was another Gallagher.

“WHAT ABOUT LIP?” Fiona asks, her eyebrows pulled together.

“Diaper run with Liam,” Debbie says, coming down the stairs.

Fiona nods, then turns to Tony, lifting one shoulder with a sad smile. “Sorry, Tony. He's not here.”

“That's okay. Just- If he does show up, give me a call?” Tony asks, a half-smile on his face.

“Sure thing,” she says, then before he leaves, she asks, “Why are the cops looking for him?”

“Uh, he's been accused of several counts of theft and assault,” Tony answers, shrugging.

Fiona isn't surprised that Mickey would do that something like that because well, _its Mickey_. What she's surprised about is the fact that someone dared to tell the police. “Who would rat out a Milkovich to the cops?”

“Kash Karib,” he answers, then takes his leave, leaving Fiona confused as hell.

Then, Ian's head pops out from behind the staircase wall and he asks, “Is he gone?”

“Who?” Fiona asks, raising her eyebrows.

“The cop,” Ian says, in a _who else?_ tone.

“Yeah, why?” But Fiona knows the answer to that and she isn't surprised when Ian lets out a loud breath and steps down from the stairs, Mandy _and_ Mickey trailing behind him. “What the hell do you kids think you're doing, lying to the police?”

“Mickey doesn't wanna go to jail,” Mandy says casually, shrugging her shoulders.

“I don't wanna go to jail,” Mickey repeats, following his sister's actions.

Fiona rolls her eyes then asks, “How'd you even know he was looking for you?”

“Saw the police car through Ian's window,” Mickey answers, then adds, “Who else would the cops be looking for?”

“Well, you're in a lot of trouble, you know? Accused of theft and assault,” Fiona says, sighing in frustration.

“By who?” Mandy asks, and she's just as surprised as Fiona was that someone was stupid enough to tell the cops about Mickey.

“Kash,” Fiona replies, and the way she says it, its obvious she doesn't believe Kash would do that.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” Ian mutters, shaking his head.

“What?” Fiona says, her eyes wide.

“He's just doing this to get back at me,” Ian grumbles and the muscles in his face jump when he clenches his jaw.

“What the hell are you talking about, Ian?” Mandy asks him, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this about what happened just now?”

“What happened just now?” Mickey asks, feeling clueless about what's happening. But no one answers him and he asks again, “What the _fuck_ happened just now, Gallagher?”

“Its nothing, just- Uh, Fiona, don't call the cops. Mandy, keep him hidden,” Ian says, pointing at Mickey. “And Mickey? _Shut up._ ”

Ian grabs his jacket from the wall and he shrugs it on, then pulls the door open, but Fiona shouts, “Ian, where are you going?”

“This is my fault,” Ian says, glancing back at them. “I can fix it.”

“Ian!” Fiona calls again, but he's already gone.

•

“Kash!” Ian barges into the store, his breathing heavy from running all the way here. “Where are you? I know you're in here, you asshole!”

“I-Ian? What are you doing here?” Kash comes out from behind a stack of crates, his voice quivering.

“Don't play dumb,” Ian snaps, his voice sharp. “Why'd you tell the cops about Mickey? He's gonna be arrested!”

“Good,” Kash scoffs, finding a steady voice now. “He deserves it.”

“Why now?” Ian asks, eyes narrowed into slits.

“What?” Kash is confused by the question.

“Why'd you tell the cops _now_? Why didn't you tell them before?” Ian's voice is louder now and his fists are balled up. “Mickey's done it before, right? You said so yourself. You said he's the reason all your previous workers left. Unless that's not true. Unless _you're_ the reason they all quit.”

“What are you talking about?” Kash shakes his head and he's even more confused. “I told the cops because I'm sick of being robbed and Mickey needs to be stopped.”

“And I did stop him!” Ian yells, and he has to shove his hands into his pockets so he doesn't just clock Kash in the right eye to match the bruised left one. He takes a deep breath, steadying his voice and he says, “Just... Tell the cops to back off, alright?”

“I can't just tell the cops to _back off_!” Kash argues and his face is twisted in conflict.

“Then tell them something! _Anything!_ Tell them it was a misunderstanding. Just drop the charges against him,” Ian says, and he's surprised he's managed not to strangle the guy yet.

“Or what?” Kash is almost daring him and Ian wants to say he'll kill Kash himself, but he doesn't.

Instead, he says, “I'll tell Mandy what you said about her.”

Kash snorts as if to say that's all you got. “Mandy's a skank and she knows it. _Everyone knows it._ ”

“I don't think Mickey will appreciate hearing that,” Ian sneers and he knows that Mickey's the kind of brother that only lets Mandy be criticised when its him that's doing it.

“Mickey will be too busy being behind bars to do anything about it,” Kash replies smugly, cocking an eyebrow.

“The other brothers won't be,” Ian smirks and Kash actually looks afraid now, but he puts on a brave front.

“I'm not scared of the Milkovich thugs,” Kash says firmly, but his eyes betray.

Ian laughs at that and its such a mocking laugh, Kash recoils slightly. “You were hiding behind vegetables when I got here!”

“I'm not doing it,” Kash says, shaking his head. “Mickey deserves everything he's getting.”

“No, he doesn't!” Ian shouts then sighs in frustration. “Jesus Christ, you're a goddamn prick, you know?”

Kash doesn't say anything to that and it makes Ian even frustrated, but he told Mickey he could fix this so he would. “ _I'll forgive you_ ,” Ian mutters, then almost immediately regrets the words.

“What?” Kash looks up.

“Drop the charges against Mickey, and I'll forgive you,” Ian says louder. “I'll forgive you for being a creep ever since I walked in here, I'll forgive you for talking shit about my friends and I'll forgive you for putting us all into this mess in the first place. Just tell the police it was a misunderstanding and Mickey's free to go.”

“The police doesn't accept ‘misunderstandings’, Ian,” Kash says, a grimace on his face. “They'll know something is up.”

“Then make something up! Say Mickey was- I don't know, _mentally challenged_ or something,” Ian shouts, his hands gripping his head. “I don't care. Just deal with it.”

Kash is quiet and Ian doesn't know if that's a good thing or not, but he doesn't have time to wait for Kash to battle with his inner demons. He needs an answer so he can go home and tell Mickey that he's safe. He wants to tell Mickey that he'll be okay. So he says, “Well?”

“Okay,” Kash says after a few more moments of silence. “I drop the charges, our slate is clean.”

Ian nods.

“Okay.” Then Kash pulls out his phone and dials a number. He puts the phone to his ear and after a while, he says, “Hey, Tony. Its Kash. Uh, you know, the whole thing with Mickey Milkovich? Yeah, it was a complete misunderstanding.” Silence. “Yeah, yeah, we sorted it out and everything's fine. Thing is, he was actually mentally unstable at the time so, he was just a mess.” He's quiet again. “That's right. Mickey's innocent. You can let him go. Right, yeah, thanks.” He hangs up then he lets out a shaky breath. He almost regrets it, but then he catches a glimpse of relief of Ian's face and he's convinced he did the right thing.

“Thank you,” Ian says, nodding at him, then he turns to leave. But Kash stops him.

“Can I just ask you one thing?”

Ian turns around and Kash says, “Why are you defending Mickey? He's bad, and you know it, so why?”

“I don't know,” is Ian's answer as he pulls the door open. Then with a smirk, he adds, “ _Maybe I'm bad too._ ”

•

Fiona, Mandy, Mickey and Lip are waiting in the living room, the atmosphere tense and heavy. They all practically leap to their feet when the door opens, but its just Veronica and Kevin. They groan and sink back down into their seats, all grabbing their beers and drinking their worry away. Ian's been gone for a while and they're not sure if he's coming back.

“Jesus, what's with the pity party?” Veronica asks, shrugging out of her jacket and sitting down with the rest of them.

“Mick's in trouble and the cops are looking for him,” Lip says, then Kevin laughs.

“Yeah, when _aren't_ the cops looking for Mickey?” Kevin says, laughing to himself, but everyone just gives him a hard look and he shuts up, sitting down quickly.

“Ian said he could fix it and he left,” Mandy says, frowning.

“But he's been gone for pretty long and we have no idea where he is,” Fiona adds, burying her face in her hands.

“I'm just here 'cause everyone's drinking,” Mickey says and that earns him a thwack on the back of his head from his sister.

“Everyone's doing what they can to protect your ass so could you at least pretend to be grateful?” Mandy snaps at him, rolling her eyes.

Mickey puts on a wide smile and its so fake that its almost hilarious. “Thank you everyone,” he says, sarcasm dripping off his tone, then he flips them off with a scowl.

“Could you not be such a- _Ian!_ ” Mandy's at her feet, running to Ian who entered through the kitchen door. She practically launches herself on him and he stumbles at her weight on his body as she hugs him tightly.

“Mandy- _Can't breathe_ ,” Ian manages to say and she immediately lets go, flashing an apologetic grin.

“Where the hell did you go?” Mandy says, shoving his chest hard, then pulling him in for another hug. “You had us all worried sick.”

“Not me,” Mickey mutters, gulping down his beer. But he's lying, whether to the others or to himself, he can't figure out. He was worried about Ian. The guy had the face of a tiger cub or something, and he thought he could get the cops to back off of Mickey? No way. But Mickey just keeps drinking, in hopes that his relief for the fact that Ian is still alive and breathing doesn't show too much.

“Ignore him,” Mandy says, finally detaching herself from Ian. Then again, she asks, “Seriously, Ian, where'd you go?”

Ian looks around the living room and he sees everyone looking at him expectantly. Mandy, Fiona, Lip, even Veronica and Kevin, and Mickey. Mickey with his blue eyes and his scowl. His stupid, stupid scowl that's supposed to be unattractive, but Ian wonders what it would be like to just... _No._ Don't think about that. Ian sighs, running his hand over his head and he really wishes his hair would start growing out from the buzz cut that he sported while he was still in military school. Then, he says, “I went to see Kash, to try and get him to drop the charges against Mickey.”

“You did _what_?” Fiona asks, gaping at Ian. “How exactly did you do that?”

“I talked to him,” Ian answers, and he wonders why everyone's eyes are practically bulging out of their heads.

“You _talked_ to him?” Mickey repeats, running a thumb over his bottom lip, laughing hoarsely. “What exactly was your plan there, tough guy? Run over to the store and say ‘ _Hey asshole, you need to drop the charges against Mickey Milkovich because he's not in the mood to fucking go to jail right now._ ’ That it?”

“Something like that,” Ian says, shrugging his shoulders and everyone sighs.

“And how did that go for you, huh?” Mickey asks, a skeptical look on his chiseled face and Ian unconsciously licks his lips.

“Well, it worked,” Ian answers, then adds, “He dropped the charges. You're off the hook.”

“Wait, what? You're kidding me,” Fiona says in disbelief and its probably the first time she's heard that talking something out could actually solve things. In this neighbourhood, if you wanna get out trouble, it has to get bloody or you're stuck. But Ian, sweet Ian, saves the day by talking his way out of a problem and Fiona couldn't be more proud.

“Nope,” Ian says and everyone bursts into cheers, happiness and relief flooding all their faces. But Mickey wasn't accepting it yet. He couldn't.

“Alright, alright, calm the fuck down,” Mickey says, making everyone turn to him, silence falling over them. Then he turns to Ian. “If your master plan of talking things out actually worked, then why'd it take you almost 2 fucking hours to come back?”

“Well-” Ian starts, but he's cut off immediately.

“Jesus, Mickey,” Mandy groans, rubbing her temples and suppresses the need to choke her brother to death. “He saved your ass so you could just say thank you instead of questioning every fucking thing!”

“Nah, nah, nah,” Mickey says, keeping his eyes trained on Ian. “I wanna hear this, so Mandy? _Quiet._ ”

Ian is almost amused at Mickey's eagerness to know why he was gone so long and he likes to think that Mickey was worried about him and where he'd gone, but he knows better. He knows Mickey just wants to make sure he really is off the hook, which is why after leaving Kash and Grab, Ian made a detour on the way home. “I went to the police station. I knew you probably wouldn't believe that I could get Kash to drop the charges so I went to see the cop that came earlier, that Tony guy, and Fiona, he should be calling you right about now.”

And Ian's right. Fiona's phone rings and Tony's name flashes on the screen. She presses the answer button and puts the phone on speaker and everyone gathers around her.

“Fiona?” Tony's voice travels through the phone.

“Yeah?” she says, then mouths to everyone to be stay quiet.

“I just wanted to let you know that the whole deal with Mickey, _its over_ ,” Tony says, then adds, “Kash called us and he said it was already sorted out, you know, a misunderstanding, something about Mickey being mentally unstable at the time and he dropped the charges, so Mickey's safe. For now, at least.”

“That- that's great, Tony,” Fiona says into the phone, laughing slightly. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” Tony replies, then the phone clicks off and everyone bursts into laughter.

Lip pulls Ian into a headlock, saying, “ _‘Mentally unstable’?_ Jesus, Ian, you really are a Gallagher, aren't you?”

Ian just laughs at that, and so does everyone else. Everyone except Mickey. Instead, he's in the corner of the room, another beer in his hand and he doesn't look as happy as a person would if they just found out they were free from the police. But then he says, “ _Hey, Ian!_ ” And Ian looks up at him, a grin on his face. Mickey doesn't say anything for a while, but after a few more sips of beer, he manages to say, “Thanks.”

Ian's smile grows wider and he says, “You're welcome, Mick.” And he's surprised how naturally the nickname rolls off his tongue and he feels like saying it again and again and again. Little does he know, Mickey likes the way Ian says his name like that and he feels like hearing it again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 4
> 
> I hope this was a good chapter and its about time you got to see a darker side to Ian and also a sweeter side to Mandy. Just a heads up that I'm extremely busy the next few days so updates might not come as quickly, but please bear with me! Again, if you have any questions or feedback, leave a comment :)


	5. Were you stalking me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds himself in the worse parts of the neighbourhood, being harassed by a gang of boys, until someone comes to his aid. Fiona and Lip find out the truth about Ian's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic slurs and mentions of paedophile this chapter.

Its two days after the whole Mickey and the police incident and Ian is back at work, and even though he knows he told Kash that they had a clean slate, he can't find the strength to look at Kash for more than two seconds. He can't even look at Kash, let alone talk to him. But Kash thinks differently, because he suddenly asks, “So, how's Mickey? How'd he feel after the cops stopped looking for him?”

Ian doesn't say anything for a while, but finally he looks up and says, “What are you doing?” And he knows he probably has a scowl on his face, but he doesn't try to force it down.

Kash gulps, then stammers, “I'm just- I'm making conversation.”

“ _No_ ,” Ian says, eyebrows slowly raising. “Making conversation would be asking me what I think the weather will be like tonight, or if I watched last night's football game. _This_ ,” Ian waves his hands around to make his point, “is getting into my business. And I'm sure I told you not to do that.”

Kash frowns and he's not liking Ian's cold attitude one bit, and he knows its his own fault, but he can't help but say, “You also told me you'd forgive me.”

“I did,” Ian replies, huffing slightly. “But I never said we were gonna be gossip buddies.”

“I thought we had-”

“A clean slate, yeah,” Ian interrupts, giving him a tight smile, so strained that it probably doesn't even look like a smile. “That means you're just my boss and I'm just your employee. _That's it._ ” He grabs his jacket, then begins to lift the counter, but Kash puts a hand on it, stopping him.

“You don't have to leave,” Kash says quickly, trying to push the counter back down. “I won't ask questions anymore.”

But Ian isn't thinking about that. Ian is thinking about the fact that his only exit is blocked and there are a hundred voices screaming in his head, telling him to get out. Then there are the million more telling him that there is no way out, and he starts to feel the familiar burning in his chest, like he can't breathe and he can't get his body to move. But then he remembers something and his fingers find their way to his pocket, where he feels a small plastic bottle and he knows what he needs to do. So with the steadiest voice he can manage, he croaks out, “I need you to move. Now. _Please_.”

And Kash is suddenly reminded of Ian's first day at work and he realises the _thing_ is happening again. So he quickly lifts the counter and moves away, staying as far away from Ian as possible. Ian doesn't say anything, he just keeps his lips pressed together and his eyes look straight ahead but he doesn't actually see in anything. He just keeps walking until he's at least a mile away from the store and his fingers never let go of the bottle and he pulls it out, eyeing the pills in the orange bottle. He knows he should take one. He's supposed to whenever he goes through an episode, no matter how mild it is. But he doesn't. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't and he just shoves the bottle back into his pocket, hoping that if he buried it deep enough, it would bury his problems with it.

•

Ian keeps walking and the sun is setting and he's not exactly sure he knows where he's going, but what he does know is he's not going home. He reaches the end of the road and the only way to keep walking is to walk through a wide alley. So he does, shoving his hands into his pockets, his hood covering his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a group of guys, probably older than he was and they've all got their eyes on him, and now he's thinking maybe he shouldn't have missed the turning onto the road back home. He could turn back right now, he could just stop and spin his body and he would be on the walk home, but he doesn't, he just keeps walking straight, hoping to reach the end of the alley. But as expected, he's stopped by the gang of boys and he decides to let it play out. Maybe they would let him pass. Maybe they would beat him to death. He decides to let them make that decision.

One of them looks at him, then says, “You're new. Got a name?”

Ian doesn't answer.

“He asked you a fucking question,” another one snaps, and he has dirty blonde hair, and Ian doesn't mean the colour dirty blonde, he really means its dirty.

“Ian,” he says, staring at the first guy.

“Ian...?” the first guy chimes, giving him a look.

“ _Gallagher_.”

They all laugh suddenly and Ian figures its because they didn't believe him. But he says nothing, until they all settle down from their laughter and the first guy speaks again, “Okay, " _Gallagher_ ", since you're new, we should probably let you off the hook for walking through our place.” And Ian almost sighs in relief, but then the dirty blonde guy adds, “ _But we don't really feel like doing that._ ”

“Why not? I wasn't doing anything,” Ian knows better than to question a gang of delinquents, but he's just full of surprises today.

They obviously don't appreciate Ian's comment, because one of the taller guys, and he doesn't look very bright, says, “Yeah, you were. You were being a _fag_.” And that makes the rest of them laugh and they start shouting things like “ _Fucking faggot!_ ” and “ _Cocksucker!_ ” at him, and they begin to get closer to him, surrounding him, and then the feeling of lack of oxygen is back in his lungs and he feels sweat dotting his skin. He's blinking rapidly and it doesn't help because every time his eyes flutter open, they're even closer to him, and his breaths are short and desperate, then his knees start to buckle and he knows this is probably the end. But before he falls to the ground, he hears a familiar voice call, “ _Ian?_ ” And he isn't certain because his vision had already started to blur, but it seemed as though the gang of boys had literally frozen in their places at the sound of the voice. But when the voice speaks again, they don't freeze, they do the opposite and run, because only a complete idiot wouldn't race away when Mickey Milkovich yells, “Get the fuck out of here right now, or you're as good as dead!”

Ian is bent over, only his hands on his knees supporting his body and his breath is heavy and loud, and it has Mickey looking at him with a strange look on his face. Mickey had been walking back from having a drink at the Alibi when he saw the Carver boys ganging up against someone, and at first, Mickey just scoffed because he found it insanely stupid how those guys thought they were the next Milkovich clan, but then he saw the flash of ginger hair and he knew that it had to be Ian. And now, he's staring at Ian doubled over and he doesn't know what to do. Sure, he's good at scaring people off and making them black and blue all over and being a complete asshole, but what are you supposed to do when someone is practically two seconds away from collapsing in front of you? So he does the thing he's best at and says, “You done dying over there? Its making me uncomfortable.”

Then, Ian slowly turns his head to Mickey, a furrowed look on his face and Mickey's not sure he said the right thing, but then Ian's face softens and he's laughing. The guy was close to dry heaving, and now he's suddenly laughing? Mickey continues to be amazed by the constant whirlwind that is Ian Gallagher. Ian straightens up, shaking his head then he looks dead straight at Mickey, and he says, “Were you stalking me?”

“What?” is Mickey's response, and he wants to wipe off Ian's stupid grin.

“You were stalking me, weren't you?” Ian asks again, his head tilted at Mickey. “That's how you found me.”

“You're a fucking idiot,” Mickey mutters, rolling his eyes at Ian, and now he's convinced that Ian has completely lost it.

Ian just laughs again, then he says, “No, I'm not.”

“You're walking in the back alleys of Southside, alone, at night, and you're telling me you're _not_ an idiot?” Mickey scoffs, shaking his head.

“Jesus, Mom, I'm sorry,” Ian says, a goofy smile spreading on his face and Mickey flips him off.

“But, seriously, man, you shouldn't fucking be out here alone,” Mickey says, trying not to sound so concerned for Ian's wellbeing, but he doesn't think he's doing such a great job because Ian's smile just grows wider.

“I wanted to explore the neighbourhood,” Ian says, shrugging. “What's that saying? _‘The best discovery is self-discovery’_?”

“You're full of bullshit, you know that, Gallagher?” Mickey says, giving him a look but he's biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. But he can't help it when Ian laughs, and he laughs too.

“Thanks,” Ian says suddenly, after he stops laughing and Mickey raises an eyebrow. “For saving my ass back there.”

Mickey just shrugs, then says, “You know all of Lip's rules about Southside? Well, another thing you need to know is that once you're in Southside, you gotta know how to protect your own ass. I ain't gonna be here for you all the time, _because I don't fucking stalk you_ , so you gotta learn to do it yourself.”

“Protect my own ass,” Ian repeats, nodding. “That it?”

“Can you throw a punch?” Mickey asks and Ian shrugs. Then Mickey says, “Try.”

Ian takes a breath, then swings his fist towards Mickey's face and his knuckles connect with Mickey's cheekbone, and Mickey falls to the ground, flat on his back.

“Jesus, _fuck!_ ” Mickey yells, cradling his face. “What the fuck was that, Gallagher?”

Ian doesn't answer, but instead drops to the ground and practically crawls onto Mickey, to get a better look at his face, because Ian knows how hard his punches can be sometimes and he's almost sure he heard something crack when he hit Mickey, but he hopes that it was his hand instead of Mickey's pretty face. “Are you okay?” Ian asks, his hands on either side of Mickey's head and Mickey just stares up at him, trying not to do anything stupid. But maybe being speechless was a pretty stupid thing to do, because Ian repeats himself, “ _Mickey?_ Are you okay?”

Mickey tries not to grin like a teenage girl at the concern in Ian's voice and his green puppy-like eyes, so he pulls his lips into a scowl and snaps, “I will be when you get the fuck off me!” Ian flashes an apologetic smile, then quickly scrambles off of Mickey, standing straight up and he offers a hand. But Mickey ignores it, pushing himself off the ground, dusting his back once he's up. He decides not to look at Ian's frown, because he might just feel bad for upsetting Ian, so he just pulls out a pack of cigarettes and sticks one in his mouth, lighting it, then he holds out the box to Ian, but Ian just stares back at him.

“What, you suddenly quit or something?” Mickey asks, eyebrow raised, smoke escaping his mouth and Ian thinks its the best look on him.

“No, its just, you've never offered before,” Ian says, lifting a shoulder.

 _Because the way you look when you have my cigarette between your lips makes me feel tingly inside_ , is what Mickey wants to say, but in reality, he says, “You want one or not? I ain't offerin' twice.”

Ian smirks, then takes one and he holds it between his teeth, waiting for Mickey to light it and Mickey is hesitant, but he moves closer to Ian and lights the cigarette, watching Ian's cheeks suck in when he inhales, and the smoke escaping through his nostrils when he exhales. They share a glance and they don't need to say anything, but they both start walking away from the alley, heading towards the road that leads back home.

“If you can hit like some fucking fight club junkie,” Mickey says suddenly, kicking at a large brick and brushing a thumb over his cheek that had started to bruise. “Why didn't you just kick all their asses?”

 _I was too busy trying to breathe_ , Ian thinks to himself, but what he says is, “There's no point.”

Mickey turns to him, an incredulous look on his face. “When does there have to be a point to beat someone up?”

Ian just gives him a look, the same look he had on his face when he had heard that Mickey had killed before. Then Mickey sighs and says, “Alright, alright, you want a point? They were calling you a fag. _There's your point._ ”

Ian turns quiet at that, casting his eyes down at his moving feet, but it makes him dizzy and he looks up, but his cigarette is burnt out so he tosses it aside, then without a word or even a glance, there's a burning cigarette between Mickey's fingers in front of Ian's face so he takes it without a question, because he knows it came straight from Mickey's lips instead of from the box, and there's a distinct taste on the stick and he wonders if that's what Mickey's lips taste like. Its the fact that he can think this without feeling stupid that makes him say what he says and he's not worried when the words leave his lips. “Well, they're not wrong.”

It takes a while for Mickey to catch on, but when Ian passes the cigarette back to him and he realises what Ian means. Mickey licks his bottom lip, then says, “So, you're...”

“Yeah,” Ian answers his unspoken question, then snatches the cigarette from Mickey's mouth.

“Ey, what the fuck? Give that back,” Mickey says, reaching for the smoke, but Ian moves away from him, sucking in even more.

“No,” Ian mumbles, refusing to let the cigarette leave his lips. “I just came out, I need it more than you do.”

“Bullshit,” Mickey shoots back, lunging for Ian, but Ian just jumps out of the way, whining, “ _No!_ I _need_ it!”

Mickey finally gives up, settling for shoving Ian's shoulder and he asks, “You always this much of a hardass?”

Ian laughs, then sheepishly says, “Maybe.” And the stick is almost burnt out, but he offers it to Mickey anyway. Mickey scoffs, muttering a sarcastic thanks, but he takes it anyway because he likes the taste that Ian's lips leave on the stick and even though he only gets one short puff before he throws it away, he doesn't care. He shoves his cold hands into his pockets and he asks Ian, “How long you known?”

Ian knows he's talking about being gay and not about being a hardass. “A while, I guess,” he says, shrugging and Mickey just nods. Then he adds, “You don't seem surprised.”

Mickey chuckles slightly, saying, “I sort of figured. I mean, I see the way you look at Mandy and its not the same way every other guy looks at her.”

Ian laughs at that, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I, uh, don't find it... _sexually appealing?_ I don't know. I just don't look at girls that way.”

“Well, you know, I think you should tell her,” Mickey says, glancing at Ian. “Mandy doesn't like it when people keep secrets from her. I see the way she is around you and I know my sister well enough to know she likes you. Not just in a _I wanna jump you_ way, but she actually _likes_ you. So if you tell her you're not interested when she thinks you're straight, you're asking for a death wish, man. Then I'd be the one who has to kick your ass, you know?”

Ian knows and he knows he has to tell Mandy sooner or later, he just hoped it would've been later rather than sooner, but even he was a little scared of Mickey so he decides its best if he talks to her soon. “I'll talk to her,” he says, nodding. Then with a cheeky smirk, he adds, “But I probably could take you on in a fight.”

Mickey laughs, saying, “You better watch your words, tough guy. But really, where'd you learn to hit like that?”

“I went to military school,” Ian answers, still smirking. “It was a part of our basic training.”

Mickey scowls at him. “You could've fucking told me before I let you clock me.”

“You didn't ask,” Ian shoots back and Mickey resists the urge to strangle him.

Then, changing the topic, Mickey asks, “Lip know you're... _you know_?” Mickey doesn't know why he can't just say the word. Maybe deep down, he does know, but he doesn't want to think about it.

Ian shakes his head. “You're the only one who knows, so...”

“Yeah, I got it, I won't tell,” Mickey mutters, then adds, “But you gotta promise me one thing?”

“What?”

Mickey grins at him and says, “Next time you see those assholes, beat the shit out of them.”

Ian laughs loudly, saying, “I promise.”

•

Ian is spinning the bottle of pills between his fingers as he's walking up the steps of the house alone. He and Mickey had walked all the way here together, smoking, making jokes and just... _talking_. He had asked Mickey, “You coming in?” as soon as they reached the front of the house but Mickey shook his head and said, “Nah, not tonight. I'm just gonna head home.” So he did, and Ian called after him with a “Goodnight!” But Mickey just held his hand up, not bothering to turn around. So, Ian is alone and he's left with the decision of taking a pill or not. He realises that he had two attacks today, and while they weren't severe and he had managed to snap out of them, they still happened, _twice_. So as he opens the door with one hand, he twists open the cap of the bottle with the other, dropping one pill on his palm as he kicks the door close. With the bottle still open and his legs carrying him to the living room, he lifts his hand to his mouth, but he's stopped when a figure knocks into him, causing the bottle to fly out of his hand and the small pills scatter all over the carpeted floor, and his body freezes in place.

“ _Ian...?_ What are those?” Fiona's voice is hard, and she looks up at him, her eyes wide.

“I- I-” Ian stammers, and his face flushes, and he feels the constricting sensation return to his chest for the third time today, and without any hesitation, he throws the pill in his hand straight into his mouth and swallows it dry. And almost immediately, he's breathing like normal again, the drugs in the pill taking effect over his body

“Ian!” Fiona shouts, and she wants to grab his face, but she doesn't, because he looks like he's scared shitless. “What the hell was that?”

Ian doesn't say anything, but instead he crouches down, slowly picking up the pills one by one and putting them back in the orange bottle. Fiona sighs, getting to her knees and helping him, and she says, “ _You can't just ignore me._ ” Then they finish filling up the bottle and Ian is forced to make eye contact, and he feels regret flooding through his body because the only thing he sees in Fiona's eyes is concern.

So he gets up and so does she, and he takes a long, long breath before saying, “They're pills. For me. Because I have anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” Fiona repeats, and her eyebrows are pulled together and she's frowning. “Everyone gets anxious, Ian. You don't need pills for anxiety.”

“Sure, you don't need pills for a _‘I can't talk in front of a huge crowd without feeling queasy’_ kind of anxiety,” Ian says, licking his lips. “But you do need pills when you're diagnosed with a clinical kind of anxiety. _A panic disorder._ ”

And then it hits Fiona. The freaking out, the heavy breathing, everything Lip had told her about what happened to Ian that day. _It was a panic attack._ She almost hits herself for not realising it sooner. It was staring her right in the face. Her little brother was sick and she didn't know how to help him. So she does the one thing she knows how to do and pulls him into the tightest, bone-crushing hug she can manage and she's not sure, but she thinks she hears him sniffle a little. They stay in the warm embrace for a while, just enjoying each other's company until they hear, “What's, uh, what's going on? Everything okay?”

They pull away to see Lip, staring at them with the strangest look on his face. I mean, they were just hugging in the middle of the living room, who wouldn't look at them funny? Fiona glances at Ian, and Ian answers her silent question with, “Its okay, we can tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Lip is confused, and his gaze is going back and forth between his two siblings and he's not sure what to expect.

Ian chews on the dried skin of his bottom lip before finally saying, “I have a panic disorder.”

“Like a- an anxiety disorder?” Lip stutters, then frowns, realisation hitting him. “The other day, that- that was it, right? That was a panic attack.”

Ian nods.

“Jesus, Ian,” Lip sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn't you tell us earlier?”

“Because I didn't want you to freak out,” Ian answers, his gaze lowering to the floor. “That attack, it was a small one. That was nothing compared to... _other times_.”

“That was a _small_ one?” Lip is in such disbelief that he sits down, and so do Ian and Fiona. “You're kidding, right?”

“No,” Ian says, lifting a shoulder. “I've gone through worse.”

Fiona feels a wave of pity wash over her body and she reaches for Ian's hand. “How long have you known?”

“I had my first attack when I was 10,” Ian says, and their eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

“ _10?_ Well, how do you- I mean, how can you tell if its an attack or not? Kids freak out a lot, don't they?” Fiona asks, her big brown eyes filled with concern, and it warms Ian's heart.

“Well, you know, when you're a kid, they can't say you got a panic attack if you cry when you see a clown, or if you scream when a balloon pops near you,” Ian says, his expression growing darker by the second. “But if you can't breathe and you start to see spots when a fully grown man attempts to jump your bones while you're playing at the park, to the point where you collapse out of panic and fear, _then_ its an attack and the doctor diagnoses you with anxiety.”

All three of them are silent after that, and Ian almost regrets saying what he said. He knew it would be this way. He knew that once the truth came out, no one would ever look at him the same. Its the only reason he wanted to keep this to himself, to avoid letting himself become an object of pity, and maybe that was selfish of him, but he would rather live with that feeling than the feeling of being pushed away by people he cares about. But for some reason, he feels like they wouldn't do that to him, because they look at him with worry and concern, instead of pity or disgust. And instead of dwelling on the fact that he had just told them he was almost raped by a pedophile, they spare him the uneasiness of talking about it and move along, and Lip asks, “Wait, how'd you get into military school then? Don't they have rules against enrolling students who have illnesses?”

“They do,” Ian mumbles, shrugging. “I just didn't tell them.”

“ _You didn't tell them?_ ” Fiona repeats, gaping at him. “How could you not tell them? Didn't your parents tell them?”

“My parents were the ones who told me to keep it quiet,” Ian says, and they can hear the sadness in his voice as it cracks a little. “They thought that putting me in military school would toughen me up, make the anxiety go away. But really, now that I think about it, I think it was my mother's way of getting rid of me. She knew I wasn't hers and she obviously hated me for it, so she was desperate to send me away. Desperate enough to lie about my health, to put my life at risk.”

Fiona and Lip know that their parents aren't exactly the best people around and most of the time, they aren't even around, but Ian probably had it worse than they do and they thank God that he's here with them now, and not back at that living hell. Ian continues when no one says anything and with a sigh, he says, “Eventually the school found out. I had a pretty harsh attack and when they got me to the ER, they found my medical history, and they expelled me. The worst part is, it didn't even happen on the field, it happened in the dorms, all because of a stupid end-year prank they decided to play on me. That's why I'm not in school anymore.”

Fiona squeezes Ian's hand and gives him a smile. “You're right, you're not with your parents and you're not in school anymore. You're here, with us. And we're gonna take care of you, okay?”

Ian smiles back and he can't even explain how grateful he is to be with them, so he just says, “Okay.”

“We're gonna start with those pills. When exactly are you supposed to take them?” Fiona asks, pointing at the bottle.

“After I get an attack, or during, if I can manage it,” Ian explains. “Or whenever I feel like I'm going to get an attack, because the anxiety I get just thinking that I might get an attack can trigger an actual attack, an anticipation attack.”

“But if you're on medication, then doesn't it get better? Doesn't it help?” Fiona asks, frowning at him.

“It helps, for a while,” Ian says, shrugging his shoulders. “They're drugs, Fiona, they're not a treatment. They calm me down from the attack and they suppress the anxiety temporarily, but they don't cure it. It just does't work that way.”

“Christ,” Lip says, and he runs a hand over his face. “I can't imagine how the past 7 years have been for you, kid. If it were me, I'd probably have jumped off a bridge a long time ago.”

“Lip!” Fiona hisses, smacking his arm, but he just grins.

“I'm just saying, its just- you're amazing, you know that, Ian?” Lip says, giving Ian a big smile.

“Really?” Ian asks, and he's not sure if Lip's just saying that to make him feel better or if he actually means it.

“Really,” Lip replies, and its said with such sincerity that Ian is convinced Lip means it and now he realises that this is what family truly feels like and he never wants to let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 5
> 
> Hi! First of all, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who's reading this, you're amazing! I know this is later than usual, but I think this was one of my favourite chapters to write so far, so hopefully you enjoyed reading it and that it was worth the wait. Also, I know this chapter isn't as long as the two previous chapters, but I think its a really big part of the story because Ian finally comes clean about two very important things so I hope I cleared things up in this chapter with the story of Ian's past, but if you're still confused, any questions are welcome! Oh, I'd also like to say that I know most of my medical facts are probably messed up and I had to sort of make some things up to fit the story and its all fictional, so DO NOT take my word for any of the medical facts stated in this chapter. Again, thank you for reading and leave me a comment with what you think of this chapter! :)


	6. If I say no, would you kill me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finally comes clean to Mandy, then later decides to do the same with Fiona.

Its Thanksgiving morning and Ian is woken up by a figure pouncing on him, shouting, “Ian! _Wake up!_ Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

Ian groans as he tries to move, but his body is being pinned down at the waist by the person on top of him, and he cracks open his eyes to see Mandy grinning down at him brightly, too bright for the early hours of the morning, and her eyes buzzed and wild. So he asks, “How much coffee did you drink this morning?”

“A few cups,” she answers, her finger tapping her chin. “Why?”

He laughs, and he's about to answer when Fiona barges in, a basket of laundry under her arm, and she stops in her place when she sees Ian in bed with Mandy straddling his waist, and they're both staring at her with big eyes. But all she says is, “Jesus, its only 8 in the morning.” And they all laugh and Ian says thanks when she puts down his folded laundry, then once she's left the room, he tries to get up but Mandy puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back down against his pillows and he whines, “ _Mandy_ , come on.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” she says quickly, keeping him down. “I have a big emergency and I'm not letting you go until you promise to help me.”

Ian sighs, folding his hands behind his head and he raises his eyebrows, saying, “Okay, fine. What is it?”

Mandy takes a deep breath, and her face is so tight and serious, Ian is almost scared of what's she's about to say, but then what comes out of her mouth is, “We're having the Thanksgiving dinner tonight and I have nothing nice to wear.”

Ian gapes at her, perching himself up on his elbows. “ _That's_ the big emergency?”

“Yes, now will you help me or not?” she pleads, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout and her eyes are almost begging him. At first, he thinks she means she needs his help financially, and while he does have some money from what his father left him, he's not sure if he wants to use it for _this_ , because he knows how crazy girls can get with shopping, so he's about to politely decline, until Mandy adds quickly, “I have some money saved from tips at work and I have enough to borrow a pretty dress-”

“Wait, _borrow_?” Ian interrupts, and she gives him a look.

“Yeah, buy it, wear it, return it the next day saying I want a refund,” she says, matter-of-factly and Ian nods, and she continues talking. “Anyway, I have the money, I just need you to come with me. Mickey definitely won't go shopping with me, and Lip gave me the excuse of Liam, and I can't ask Debbie because she's too busy cooking for tonight with Fiona, and also, I kinda wanted a guy's opinion on what I get because I'm actually trying to impress someone tonight.”

After a few moments of silence, Ian agrees, not because he particularly enjoys dress shopping or anything, but because Mandy is speaking in such a rushed voice and she looks as excited as a kid on Christmas morning and Ian doesn't want to be the one thing that brings her down today. Also, he figures it might be his chance to finally sit her down and talk to her, tell her the truth about how he feels about her, and maybe with the thrill of going shopping that all girls get, she might not bite his head off for what he has to say to her. She almost squeals, and falls right on top of him as she threw her arms around him, and he just laughs, then slowly pulls himself up with his hand on her back, and now he's sitting up, and she's in his lap, not budging and she has a look in her eyes that Ian recognises as the kind of look girl's get right before they kiss you, so before she can plant her lips on him, he quickly says, “ _I need to pee._ _”_ And she jerks back, saying, “ _Oh_ ,” as she climbs off him and her face is flushed and her smile is bashful. Ian feels guilt swallow him up as he passes her, almost running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

“ _You know, I think you should tell her_ ,” he hears Mickey's voice say and he almost answers it, before realising its only in his head and Mickey wasn't actually there. But Ian sure wishes he was.

Ian freshens up, and he quietly leaves the bathroom, poking his head back into his room where Mandy was nowhere to be seen. He figures she went downstairs so he goes down too, and he's amazed at what's happening in the kitchen. Kevin was handling a large turkey with one arm, and carrying his child in the other, whether its Jemma or Amy, Ian can't tell. Veronica and Fiona are preparing something that involves various vegetables and Ian sees Carl staring at the dish with disgust written all over his face and Ian almost laughs. Debbie is crossing across the kitchen and she checks on something in the oven, smiling contently at whatever it is she's cooking in there. Lip and Mandy are keeping Liam and the other baby – Jemma? Amy? – entertained with toys that jingle and ring. Even Mickey is there, but he's sitting at the table with his legs propped up on the table, a cup of coffee in his hand and he just watches everyone else while they work, and Ian watches him watching the others and he's convinced that Mickey probably has the most perfectly carved face in the entire world, then as if he senses that Ian is looking at him, Mickey turns his head and Ian immediately smirks, because the bruise from the hit that Ian gave him still hasn't faded and Ian sees it almost as a mark he left on Mickey and he wishes he could mark Mickey's body even more, but then Mickey scowls at him and he shakes the thought out of his head.

“Maybe you should stop standing there like a statue and actually go do something,” Mickey says to him, his eyebrows quirked up and Ian gives him a flat look.

“Oh, what, like you are?” Ian shoots back, crossing his arms and Mickey almost chokes on his coffee because Ian's biceps are flexed and he's only wearing a flimsy wife beater and Mickey has to grip his mug so tightly that he might crush it just so he doesn't rip the piece of clothing off of Ian's body. Ever since Ian had come out to him the other day, Mickey hasn't been able to keep Ian out of his head. Hell, Ian had been a frequent visitor in the better parts of his fucked up mind as soon as he saw Ian sitting in the living room over a week ago, but he only admitted it to himself when Ian told Mickey about his sexuality, and maybe that was because he finally knew that he had the slightest chance in the world. The slightest chance for him to have Ian, to listen to Ian's pretty laughter ringing in his ears, to touch every square inch of Ian's toned body, to indulge the taste of Ian's lips that he's been craving since the first time they shared a cigarette, to wrap himself in Ian's warm scent that's a mixture of mint soap and nicotine, to... _Fuck_. What the fuck are you doing, Mickey? Get it together. And he tries his best to put on a smug front, saying, “Can't you see I'm watching over everyone? Make sure no one stabs themselves in the eye or set the house on fire. Its a pretty fucking hard job to do when these clowns are in a kitchen with knives and shit.”

That earns Mickey several glares, and Mandy chucks a Lego at his head, but he manages to swerve out of the way, and in the process, he spills his coffee right down his shirt and Ian bursts out laughing at the gobsmacked look on Mickey's face as the hot black liquid seeps through his shirt and runs down his torso. Everyone else is watching him with wary eyes, biting down on their lips to stifle their laughter, because everyone knows Mickey doesn't like being laughed at. Everyone except Ian, because he's almost doubled over and Mickey clicks his tongue at him, and he says, “This funny to you, ginger?”

And Ian almost immediately stops laughing, because its been a while since he heard that nickname from Mickey and it makes his face burn, but he covers it up with more cheeky laughter. Mickey rolls his eyes, then stands up, yanking his coffee stained t-shirt off, leaving him shirtless and Ian has to bite his lower lip to prevent his jaw from dropping at the sight of Mickey's bare torso. Ian gulps, not wanting to ever peel his eyes away from Mickey's body and he wonders what his skin feels like, what it smells like, but then he remembers that Mickey is the only one who knows he's gay, and the kitchen was full of people who didn't know the truth, so he turns his head to look away, and Mickey just pushes past him and drops his shirt into the washing machine, then casually heads upstairs, not bothering to spare a second glance at Ian, and Ian pretends he doesn't feel an ache in the middle of his chest, but he does, and he doesn't know why, because as far as he knows, Mickey would never feel the same way about him the way that he feels about Mickey. Sure, they have their good moments every once in a while, and Mickey has about a billion different nicknames for Ian, and sometimes Ian catches Mickey looking at him longer than usual but it could all be in his head. It probably is in his head. Mickey doesn't like him and he never will.

•

_When did it get so cold?_

That's the thought that's running through Ian's head as he's waiting outside the house for Mandy, who had forced him to shower quickly and get ready to go out after breakfast, and now he's the one waiting on her, and he's puffing on a cigarette from a pack that he had gotten for himself from work, but the heat from it is only temporary and it doesn't spread to the rest of his body, and he considers going back to wait inside, but just as he's about to turn, sure enough, Mandy walks out and for once, she's actually covered up and Ian figures its because of the sudden drop in temperature, but she doesn't look any less beautiful than when she's wearing clothes that are too tiny for her and he thinks she actually looks better this way, all bundled up with her hair tucked into a loose red beanie. He smiles at her and offers her a cigarette, which she takes without hesitation, and he lights it for her, then they walk side by side, and he lets her lead the way, until they end up in the middle of town, in front of a store that has sparkly dresses on mannequins in its display window, then Ian cranes his neck to see about five more shops with a similar display and he sighs when he realises Mandy's probably going to go into every single one of them, trying on every single dress that fits her, then she'll end up getting the first dress she saw in the first store. But he doesn't have time to complain because he's already being dragged into the first store and he's pushed down onto a small round chair, while Mandy grabs almost everything off the racks and disappears into the changing room. Ian sits there, twiddling his thumbs for about a millennium before Mandy finally emerges, in a shiny pink dress and its such a contrast from her usual grungy look that Ian is pleasantly surprised and he says, “That's perfect.”

And she grins, twirling slightly in front of a mirror and he realises she's barefooted and in this moment, she looks like a little girl, dancing around in her small tutu, pretending she's a ballet dancer and he wonders if she was ever like that at one point in her life, or she was always troubled, right from the start. It seems like that's the way it is for the people in Southside and Ian knows he's lucky to have been raised in a different environment, but then he pictures Debbie and Carl and Liam and how happy and content they are with their lives here and for the hundredth time, he wishes he had grown up here too.

“Can you help me unzip?” Mandy asks, looking over her shoulder at him, and he gets up, walking over to her, and his hand is on her bare shoulder, and her hand is holding the front of the dress up and he unzips the back of the dress, and his fingers brush against the skin of her back, and she shivers, but it does nothing for him. With her hand still holding up the dress, she turns in his arms, and she has that look in her eyes again, the kiss look, and for the second time today, Ian backs away quickly, leaving her kiss hanging in the air, and she quickly straightens up and retreats back into the changing room. Guilt consumes Ian and he's left with a heavy pit at the bottom of his stomach and he just wants this all to be over.

Mandy comes out after a while, and she's dressed in her normal clothes again with the pink dress hanging off her arm, and Ian's looking at her with furrowed eyebrows and he asks, “You're only trying on _one_ dress? Isn't there some silent girl rule that you have to try on at least five?” Ian attempts to lighten the mood, but to no prevail.

Mandy just gives him a tight smile and all she says is, “You said it was perfect.”

“It is,” he replies, and he means it. “You looked beautiful.”

She's upset at him, but one look at his green eyes and she caves in, a wide smile spreading across her face. She quickly pays for the dress, then she grabs Ian's hand, and they leave the store, and she steers him towards the smaller, quieter roads. While they're walking, she looks up at him through her eyelashes, and she asks, “Ian, do you like me?”

Ian tenses, then with a steady voice, he says slowly, “If I say no, would you kill me?”

“No,” she answers, too quickly, and hurt flashes across her features.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” she mumbles, casting her gaze down. “So, you don't like me?”

“Its not that I don't like _you_ specifically,” he says, making gestures with his hands. “Its just that I don't like _girls_ in general.”

Mandy stops walking, her hand on Ian's chest to stop him too, then slowly, her head turns to face him, and her eyes are so wide that they might pop out of her head. “You're gay?”

“I'm gay,” he says, and now that he's actually said it out loud, he feels a cold rush of relief spread through his body, making him feel all tingly inside.

“How did I- How come you- How-” Mandy stammers, a billion questions filling her head and finally, she settles for, “ _How?_ ”

“How did I become gay-”

“No!” Mandy starts walking again, kicking at the gravel. “How did I not notice?”

“Well-”

“You said I was beautiful!” she cries, and there's a desperation in her voice that he's never heard from her. “No one ever calls me beautiful, I thought that meant something!”

Ian sighs, grabbing her shoulders, then he dips his head to meet her eyes, and with all his heart, he says, “It does mean something. You _are_ beautiful, Mandy. The most beautiful girl I know. And you're probably one of the best people I've ever met in my entire life. I do like you, _a_ _lot_ , just not in a sexual way. Okay?”

Her body slumps in his hold, and her frown deepens as she reluctantly says, “Okay.” Then she claws at her own face, grumbling, “Its just, you're one of the good ones, Ian. The ones that don't show up in this stupid town very often. But...”

“ _Mandy_...”

“You know what the funny thing is?” she says, laughing dryly. “I got this dress for you. I mean, _you're_ the guy I wanted to impress.”

“I'm still the same guy,” he says, lifting one shoulder weakly. “I'm still your friend.”

That makes her smile and she puts her arm around his waist and snuggles close to him, but its done in such a way that it doesn't make Ian feel at all uncomfortable and it keeps him warmer, so his arm drops over her shoulders and he pulls her tighter, and they walk together, and looking up at him, she says, “You know, I've always wanted a gay best friend.”

He laughs at that, saying, “I'm your guy.” But then he adds quickly, “You're the only other person who knows, apart from Mickey, so if you could keep it yourself for the time being...”

Mandy jerks away from him, shooting a sharp look at him. “You told _Mickey_ before you told me?”

“It was a compromising situation,” Ian explains, his face flushing. “I kinda had to.”

Her eyebrows pull together and she's walking slower, and Ian's not sure why she's giving him a funny look, until she says, “Did he catch you, like... taking it up the ass or something?”

“Mandy!” he groans, covering his face in embarrassment, but she pulls his fingers away from his face, and she says, “ _Ian!_ You don't have to be embarrassed! I get you now, you can tell me anything.”

But he just laughs, squeezing her body, and he says with such certainty, it makes Mandy burst out in laughter as soon as the words leave his lips, “I like to top.”

“Ian Gallagher, _sweet, innocent Ian_ , just admitted he likes to top,” Mandy says between breaths. “Who would've ever thought?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but a soft smile plays across his lips and he feels so much better now that everything's out in the open with Mandy and he's relieved that his limbs are intact and that she's taking it well, and he knows she is because then she says something completely ridiculous.

“Wait, you were in military school, right?” Mandy's eyes are wide and she has a sneaky grin on her face. “That means there were tons of fit guys walking around naked in the dorms and stuff, right? Shit. That must've been like gay heaven for you.”

He playfully strangles her neck, then says, “God, no. Those guys were assholes, no matter how attractive they were.”

“So you admit they were attractive.” She waggles her eyebrows at him, making him roll his green eyes, then she asks, “How many guys have you been with before?”

“Two,” Ian answers, shrugging. “But one doesn't even count, because he had a girlfriend and he just... I don't know. But the other guy, we lived in the same neighbourhood, he was nice, but then he moved without telling me, so, yeah, whatever.”

Mandy nods, and she understands, she's never had a serious boyfriend before either. Then she gives him a suggestive look, “What about now? Any Southside guys you got your eye on?”

“Oh, _plenty_ ,” Ian says jokingly, and she hits him lightly on the chest, and he laughs. “I don't know. I mean, I haven't really thought about it much, you know? There's just been so many other things going on.”

“I know,” she sighs, but then perks up, saying, “But if you do ever meet a guy you like, you have to tell me first! Not Mickey again.”

_But what if Mickey is the guy I like?_ Ian thinks, but he pushes away the thought and he nods at her, grinning. “You'll be the first to know.”

“You swear?” She holds out her pinky in front of his face, and he hooks his small finger with hers, and he says, “I swear.”

•

Apparently, Thanksgiving – and every other major holiday – calls for a big celebration in the Gallagher house, and they know they might not have the most money in the world to throw a huge fancy party, but good homemade food, cold beer and sodas, and all the family they could ever ask for was a lot better than 10-year old wine and caviar or some rich people shit like that. There was even a dress code: “No clothes with holes in them!” So Ian put on a dark blue shirt, all buttoned up with the sleeves rolled up to above the crook of his elbows, and he was shrugging on his jeans when Lip walked in shirtless, his lips curled down, with a white shirt balled up in his hand.

“You got anything to wear?” Lip asks, then tosses the shirt into the laundry basket. “Liam spilled chocolate milk on mine and its about the only decent thing I have for tonight.”

Ian nods, then rummages through his clothes before pulling out a light grey shirt that was a size too big for him, but it should fit Lip perfectly. He flings it over to Lip and the right corner of Lip's mouth curls up, and he says, “Thanks. By the way, uh, Mandy's looking for you.” Lip waggles his eyebrows at Ian suggestively, a knowing smirk on his face and Ian just laughs, and he wonders if Lip is ever going to know the truth. He wonders if he'll ever muster up the courage to tell Lip. It was a shock enough for Lip to find out that he had a panic disorder, he didn't know if Lip could handle knowing that he was gay. So he just forgets about it, and goes downstairs to find Mandy.

Mandy's waiting at the foot of the stairs and she looks even more gorgeous in the pink dress than she did earlier this morning because she has her hair and makeup done perfectly and Ian sighs, a smile spreading on his face, like a father looking at his daughter on the night of her first prom, and he says, “You look amazing, Mandy.”

“Thanks, Ian,” she says, then gives him a bright grin, winking at him. “You clean up pretty good too.”

“Apparently I'm not the only one,” Ian mutters to himself, his eye catching a glimpse of Mickey walking in through the back door, and he's dressed in a black sweater that's loose, but at the same time clings to his body at all the right places, and Ian almost licks his lips at how good Mickey looks, but then he catches himself, remembering that Mandy was right in front of him, and she has no idea how much he wants Mickey.

Mickey is walking around the kitchen with a bottle of beer, in search of a bottle opener, and after spending almost his entire life in this house, he knows exactly where it is, but he opens every drawer and cupboard that doesn't even come close to where the thing is, just to have an excuse to sneak looks at Ian, who is deliciously handsome tonight, in his smart shirt that's tight against his broad chest and Mickey thinks that if Ian stretched a little, the shirt might just pop open, not that Mickey would mind that at all. But then as he's staring at Ian a little too long, Ian glances at him for the slightest second, but its such a brief moment that he thinks nothing of it, until he catches the small smirk that's tugging at the corner of Ian's lips like a fucking tease and he accidentally slams the drawer shut and it makes a loud banging noise, and everyone turns to him.

Mickey's jaw twitches as everyone's eyes fall on him, and he feels Ian's gaze burn into the back of his neck, and he wishes that its Ian's hot breath instead, and its that thought that helps him put a scowl on his face and he says, “I can't find the fucking bottle opener.”

Ian is suddenly beside him, taking the bottle from his hand and he says, “Here, let me do it.” And Ian puts the top of the bottle between his teeth, twisting the cap and there's a hiss when the bottle pops open, and he hands it back to Mickey, who takes it without a word, but he's looking at Ian as if Ian was a serial killer who escaped from a maximum security prison, but Mickey quickly snaps out of his trance and scoffs, “Great, now I have puppy drool on my beer.”

Ian knows that's supposed to be an insult, but he finds himself laughing at the fact that Mickey had called him a puppy and he laughs even harder when Mickey proceeds to drink the beer with the "puppy drool" on it. And Mickey has never seen anyone who could laugh so much and seem so sincere when they do it, so he can't himself when he starts laughing along too, but it doesn't last long because he sees Mandy out of the corner of his eye, staring blankly out the door, looking dejected and he asks Ian, “Ey, ginger, you talk to Mandy yet?”

Ian ceases his laughter to answer and he says, “Yeah, I did.”

After Ian doesn't say anything else, Mickey's eyebrows raise and he says, “Yeah, _and_?”

“And what?”

Mickey is consumed by the urge to knock Ian on the back of his head, and he's close to doing it, but he balls up his hand and says, “And how'd she take it, you idiot?”

“Surprisingly well, really,” Ian answers, ignoring the fact that Mickey had just called him an idiot. Then he adds, “Why? Planning on telling her something yourself?”

Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian, wondering what exactly he's getting at and he says, “What?”

But Ian doesn't have time to answer – and really, he's thankful for that –because Fiona is ushering them all to the table that's way too small for all of them and there aren't enough chairs either but she forces everyone to get around the table, and she says, “Okay, we're going to go around the table and everyone's gonna say something they're thankful for. And I don't wanna hear bullshit like a new toy or something,” she points a finger at Carl, “I wanna hear real things. _Good things_. Like, I'm thankful for my family, every single one of you here right now, no matter however much you fuck up, and I love you.”

Everyone aww's at that, except Kevin, who asks, “Was that your turn or was that just an example?” But no one answers, they just give him bad looks, but he just sighs and says, “Well, I'm thankful for all the times you all actually answer my questions, which is _never_.” And everyone laughs, then Veronica continues with, “I'm thankful for my two little angels, my Kev, my Fi, and all my kids – _my Gallagher and Milkovich kids_ – who surprisingly have never died on my watch.”

They go around the table until they reach Lip, who says, “I'm thankful that I'm home, spending the holidays with my family, instead of being cooped up in the shithole I call school.”

Mandy straightens up when its her turn, and she gives Ian a warm look before she says, “I'm thankful for the people who are brave enough to tell me truth.”

“I'm thankful for... Uh, I don't know. _Stuff?_ ” Mickey says, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. Then everyone gives him a look, so he rolls his eyes and says, “Alright, fine then, I'm thankful for all the times you've kept me out of prison. Happy?”

Everyone chuckles at that, then their eyes rest on Ian, who's the final person to speak, and he hums for a while before he says, “I'm thankful for everything. Being here with all of you. This family. Everything you've done for me. I never really had a family before this, so this, _right here, right now_ , is what I'm thankful for.” Then everyone cheers, but they're interrupted when the back door swings open and loud rambling is heard.

“What's all this? _A party_? And I wasn't even invited?” The old man staggers, swaying from one side to the other and he looks so frail that he might just topple over at the slightest gust of wind. He drags his legs over to the dining room, where they are all sat, staring at him with wide eyes as he dances drunkenly across the room, until he trips on a bump in the carpet, dropping face first to the ground, and he's sprawled out there, with a drink in one hand and money in the other, but he doesn't get up, and no one bothers trying to get him up, because he's started snoring and there's no use now.

“Who the hell is that?” Ian asks, staring at the old man on the floor.

“That's Frank,” Lip answers, his voice flat and weak. “ _He's our dad._ ”

•

Dinner had been awkward and silent, due to the presence of the unconscious man in the middle of the room but they managed to get through it and it only took them about an hour to clean up because everyone helped a little here and there, and Kevin and Veronica took their kids home, and Mickey and Mandy called it a night and headed back to their place, and Lip had gone upstairs to put Liam to bed, and Debbie and Carl were already fast asleep, so that left Ian and Fiona, stretched out on the couch, both staring at Frank.

“I'm really sorry for him,” Fiona says, sighing. “He has a talent for ruining good nights like these. I just didn't expect him to come home because he hasn't for a while, you know?”

Ian nods, but shrugs. “Its okay. At least now I know who he is.”

“Yeah, an old drunk,” Fiona snorts, but the hint of sadness in her voice is evident.

Then suddenly, Ian says, “I need to tell you something.” And Fiona immediately feels a pit in her stomach because the last time Ian told her something, it was the fact that he has an anxiety disorder and she's not sure what she'll hear this time. But what she does hear doesn't surprise her one bit.

“I'm gay,” Ian breathes out, looking up at her with big eyes.

She gives him a small smile, rubbing a hand on his head, and she says, “I know.”

“What? Who told you?” Ian says quickly, his eyes growing even bigger.

She squeezes his arm, telling him, “Nobody had to tell me. I could see it.”

“Is it that obvious?” he mumbles, his gaze falling.

She laughs a little, then nudges his head. “So what if it is? There's nothing wrong with it.”

“I know, its just- I don't know,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I guess I'm not ready for people to know.”

And she says, “I'm not gonna tell. I swear. Cross my heart.”

“Thanks, Fiona,” he replies, smiling at her.

Then she grins, asking, “So, is there anyone special?”

Ian shrugs, laughing dryly. “There is this guy. I really like him, but I don't think he likes me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think he's into girls,” Ian groans, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Oh, ouch,” Fiona mutters, frowning. “I know how that feels.”

Ian gives her a look. “Wait, are you-”

“No, no, but,” she chuckles, “I liked a guy who was gay one time. It was the most embarrassing thing ever. It was at some party, and I kissed him in front of everyone, thinking that I was being really cool or something, but then he goes, "I like boys." And I'm just standing there like a complete idiot, and I don't think I could ever face him again.”

“Oh, wow,” he mutters, then laughs and she laughs too.

“I'm glad you told me,” she says, her heart full and happy, and she gives him the biggest hug she could ever give.

“Me too,” he says into her ear, and he hugs her tighter, like his life depends on it, and he feels good. He feels loved _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 6
> 
> I know this was really late but school's just started again and I can't find the time to write much but I'm doing my best and I hope you liked this chapter! Sorry if there were small mistakes I didn't correct. Leave me some thoughts :)


	7. Do I bore you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian goes on a date with a guy he meets at Kash and Grab, but he realises that its not the right guy.

Ian is shivering as he enters Kash and Grab, the cold early December chill blowing into the quiet store, where Kash is waiting, his eyes glued on the door. Kash immediately lets out a sigh of relief as soon as Ian walks in, saying, “Thanks for coming in today on such short notice. I know you're not supposed to be working, but I really need you to take care of the store for the day. I just have some family things going on and I-”

“Yeah, I got it,” Ian says quickly, putting his jacket onto the counter. “Its no problem, really. I didn't have anything to do today anyway. You can just leave the keys, I can lock up later if you want.”

Kash flashes a small smile, setting the chain of keys on the counter, then excuses himself, disappearing out the door, leaving Ian by himself. After five minutes of silence, he decides to rearrange the can drinks and restock the candy, but that takes him less than ten minutes because he'd done the exact same thing the day before and there was nothing to fix, really. He sighs, propping himself up on the counter, his legs swinging back and forth, banging against the wooden surface. The past few days have been insanely boring, Lip's going back and forth from college, Mandy got pulled back into school full-time, Fiona's been working more shifts to fill up the Squirrel Fund, the kids have been in school too, even Liam is in daycare, and Mickey's been in and out of the house and Ian's not exactly sure what he does in his spare time, but from the looks of it, his daily routine usually includes having a drink at the Alibi, terrorizing people in the neighbourhood and occasionally coming home with a bleeding nose or a bruised limb. Not that Ian observed him the entire day or anything. Maybe he did a little. I mean, its hard for him not to when half the time, Mickey is walking around the house in boxers and thin t-shirts that look like they would tear in half if Ian just tugged on them a little bit. It was hard for him to stop himself from doing so. He didn't know why, but it was as if Mickey had gotten a hundred times more attractive since that day when he saved Ian from those guys in the alley. And maybe it was the way Mickey had started slicking his hair back and it makes Ian want to run his fingers through it, or maybe it was the way Mickey was constantly running his thumb over his bottom lip and Ian just wants to know what his lips feel like, or maybe it was the way Mickey actually smiled genuinely instead of smugly smirking and sometimes, Ian likes to think that he's the reason for that smile, but he knows he's not. Its nice to pretend, though.

Little does he know, he is the reason for that smile and Mickey doesn't know why, but Ian and everything Ian does makes him grin like a 12-year old girl after her first kiss and every day that he spends at the Gallagher house – around Ian, it gets harder and harder to hide that smile, and he's sure that Ian notices it, but Ian doesn't say anything about it so neither does he. But God, Ian could do anything and it would look good on him, he even made aggressively crushing an empty can drink look attractive, which is what he was doing when Mickey walked into the store, tugging at the scarf around his neck. Ian is on the counter, his face is tight and green liquid is running down his hand as he squeezes the aluminium can in his hand, and Mickey's sure Ian doesn't realise what he's doing, so he clicks his tongue and says, “Ey, easy there, tough guy. What's that drink ever do to you?”

Ian's neck almost snaps when he turns his head to face the sudden voice and he tries not to fall off the counter when he sees Mickey standing at the door, his hair damp from the drizzle outside and his cheeks pink from the cold wind. And Mickey has that ever charming smirk on his face, and Ian's insides almost turn to putty at the small curl at the edge of his lips. He swallows his giddiness, and says, “Nothing. I don't know. I just- I was thinking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mickey raises an eyebrow, throwing his scarf onto the counter. “Thinking always make you crush things?”

Ian can hear the snicker in Mickey's voice and his cheeks burn, and he restrains himself from grabbing the scarf that was in his reach and inhaling Mickey's smoky scent. So, to keep his hands occupied, he throws away the can drink and finds wet wipes to clean his hands, and he replies, “The thing I was thinking about makes me want to crush things.” And that particular thing was Mickey. The fact that Ian couldn't have Mickey. The fact that Mickey didn't want Ian. The fact that Mickey was flawed in almost every single aspect, but Ian still found him perfect. The fact that no matter how much Ian tried to convince himself otherwise, he was falling for Mickey and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I'm gonna take a guess and say that you ain't telling me what it is you're thinking about,” Mickey chimes, sticking a cigarette between his teeth. He inhales the toxins that are in the short stick and he hopes that they will corrupt his mind and destroy any part of his brain that wishes that he was what Ian was thinking about, but he knows that those parts of his mind could never be pushed away, no matter how hard he tried. Those parts of his mind were slowly taking over his whole being and they were telling him what he's known all along; he was falling for Ian and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Not like you'd care anyway,” Ian says, looking down at him with wide eyes and Mickey can't help but be reminded of a sick puppy, looking to you for comfort.

 _I do care_ , is what Mickey wants to say, but what he does say is, “Probably not.” Then he holds out the cigarette to Ian, who takes it without hesitation, and he blows out through his lips expertly, the white smoke swirling in front of his face and it warms his body for the shortest amount of time before he's enveloped in numbness once again. He's too cold and Mickey notices, so when Ian tries to give him back the smoke, he says, “Take it. You need it more than I do.”

“Are you sure?” Ian asks, knowing how much Mickey values his cigarettes.

Mickey waves him off, nodding then waves his hands over the air vents, “Don't you turn on the fucking heater in here?”

“It is on,” Ian mumbles, reaching towards the air vent, where his hand makes contact with Mickey's for the briefest moment and even though he's freezing to his bones, heat sears through his body from Mickey's touch, and he does his best not to just grab Mickey's entire hand and never let it go. Mickey's eyes are on him, a dark look in them that makes Ian visibly shudder and Mickey asks, “You sure you're okay? Its not _that_ cold in here.”

“I'm fine,” Ian mutters, avoiding Mickey's gaze, his fingers twisting the knob to turn up the heat and he's blasted with a wave of hot air and he sighs, turning to Mickey. “So, do you need anything or are you just...”

“What, I can't go into stores unless I need to get something now?” Mickey scoffs, his eyebrows arched.

“I didn't say that,” Ian mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I was just asking.”

“If you want me to leave, just say so,” Mickey says, his lips turned down. Then he sighs and adds, “Yeah, I'm just gonna leave.”

“No!” Ian says, too eagerly, then mentally curses himself, biting down on his tongue. “I-I mean, no, its fine. You can stay. I wasn't doing anything anyway.”

Mickey cocks an eyebrow at him, turning his body towards the door with a sneaky grin on his face and Ian frowns at him, saying, “Oh, come on, Mick, I've been rearranging and restocking the same things over and over. I kinda need some company.” And Mickey can't help but feel bubbly inside because Ian had used the word ' _need_ ' and it was almost as if he was saying he needed Mickey and that's all Mickey had to hear. So Mickey exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, and shrugs off his jacket, then he casually leans against the counter and his hip brushes Ian's knee but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he says, “So? What do you wanna do?”

After a few moments of silence, Ian finally says, “We could get high.” And he says it with such a straight face, what more with his big Bambi eyes full of innocence, so Mickey has to restrain himself from bursting out into laughter, but a smile creeps onto his face anyway, and he asks, “You got any weed?” Ian frowns at that, so Mickey sighs, rummaging through the pockets of his jacket until his fingers latch onto a familiar packet and he pulls it out, then smirks, saying, “You're lucky I do.” And as Mickey is expertly rolling up a joint as if it was his second nature, Ian wonders if everyone in Southside just had marijuana on them at all times, and he wonders if that's legal, then he wonders if anything the people here do is legal, then he realises he's done some pretty illegal stuff too and he's almost proud of himself.

“Here,” Mickey says, handing Ian the joint, and he lights it up as soon as Ian puts it in his mouth and Ian's eyes brighten as soon as he's hit with the pot and he grins, passing the stick to Mickey. The stick goes back and forth between them until they're both laughing, at what exactly, neither of them are sure. But Ian's convinced that it has something to do with the fact that Mickey tripped over his own feet and slid down to the floor, and he doesn't bother trying to get up, so Ian hops off the counter and lands himself next to Mickey, and they sit there, until their laughter subsides. Then Mickey glances at Ian, and he bursts out into laughter again.

“What?” Ian asks, his eyes wide and his smile even wider. “What's so funny?”

“You,” Mickey mumbles, chuckling softly. “Its funny that you've only been in Southside for a couple of weeks and here you are, getting baked on the floor of a grocery store when you're supposed to be working.”

“I learned from the best,” Ian replies, nudging Mickey's shoulder and he laughs.

“Oh, yeah? Fiona teach you these kind of things?” Mickey snickers, wiggling his eyebrows at Ian. And Ian just rolls his eyes, and he's about to respond, but he's interrupted by the jingling of the bell at the door and he looks up to see a tall, lean man standing in the doorway, his coat damp from the rain and his head covered with a black beanie with blonde curls poking out of the front and Ian has to look away to hide his burning cheeks because _damn_ , that is a good looking man. Mickey immediately gets up and bundles himself up so fast that Ian doesn't realise he's leaving until he says, “See you at home, ginger.”

The man quickly asks Mickey before he leaves, “Excuse me, do you work here?”

To that, Mickey's response is, “Go fuck yourself.” And he pushes his way out of the store and then he's gone, leaving the man muttering to himself, “I'll take that as a no.” Ian realises he's still on the ground so he gets to his feet and dusts himself off, saying, “I-I work here. Can I help you?”

The guy flashes a grin, so bright that Ian has to grip the counter to hold himself up. “I'm just looking for some drinks. I'll help myself.” Then he disappears behind the aisles and he returns with a six-pack of beers, placing it on the counter. Ian gets to work, scanning it and opening the register, and as the guy is paying, he asks, “So, was that your boyfriend?” And he says it with such certainty that Ian wonders if its that obvious that he's gay, but he shrugs it off and says, “No, he's not.”

“ _See you at home?_ ” the guy repeats, eyebrows raised and Ian just chuckles, handing him his change, saying, “He's a close family friend, practically lives in my house.” 

The guy nods, then says, “So, if he's not your boyfriend, then he won't beat me up if I wanted to take you out for a drink tonight?”

At that, Ian laughs, and says, “No, I guess not.” 

And the guy grins, saying, “Is that a yes?” Ian nods. “Good. Do you wanna meet here or...?”

“Yeah, here's fine,” Ian says, smiling. “At 9?”

“Its a date,” the guy says, then holds his hand out. “I'm Chris.”

“I'm Ian.” And for the first time in a long time, Mickey isn't the main focus in Ian's mind and he's not sure whether its a good thing or a bad thing, but what he does know is that he's going out with an insanely hot guy and maybe it was finally time for that.

•

“I've got a date tonight,” is the first thing Ian says when he gets home to find Lip in his room, exhausted from the train ride from college. Lip is dazed for a moment – half-asleep – but then he realises what Ian had just said and his face breaks into a grin.

“Oh, yeah? What's her name?” Lip asks, sitting upright with his chin in his palm.

“ _His_ name,” Ian corrects, not so subtly. “His name is Chris.”

Lip's smile falters, then he chuckles lightly, trying to make sense of what just came out of his brother's mouth. But he can't, so he says, “I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say 'his'.”

“You heard right,” Ian mutters, and regret is slowly starting to fill him up, starting from the tips of his toes and spreading to his entire being and he's not sure he did the right thing by telling Lip.

But Lip continues to insist that he had heard wrong, desperation in his voice as he says, “Chris as in Christina, right?”

“No, Chris as in Christopher,” Ian replies, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know what, forget it. Forget I said anything.”

And just as he's about to leave, Lip puts a hand on his arm, pulling him back. “No, Ian, come on. I'm sorry, its just- You're just- Jesus.”

That makes Ian smile a little and he can't help but say, “I'm not Jesus.” 

And Lip laughs loudly, saying, “No, but you are an idiot.” Then he calms down, and sighs, “So, you like dudes, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ian says, lifting one shoulder, then he scratches the back of his neck. “Its not a big deal, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Lip says, chewing on his bottom lip. “Its just... a shock, I guess. But, uh,” He smirks. “How hot is this Chris guy?”

Ian laughs, feeling like a weight was just lifted off his shoulders and he says, “ _Hot_.” He's almost surprised that Lip is taking it so well and he's not sure if its real or if its all an act, but one look at Lip's face – his glassy eyes and his dimpled smile – and Ian is sure that Lip really means what he says and he couldn't have asked for a better brother. He's even more convinced that Lip is cool with it when he says, “Well, what the hell are you still doing here? Go get ready, kid!”

So Ian nods, grinning from ear-to-ear and races to the bathroom, stripping himself and hopping into the shower. Its when he's standing in front of the sink, staring back at his own reflection, that he's suddenly hit with the realisation that he's actually going out with a guy. I mean, sure, he'd been with guys before, but those were all behind closed doors. This was an actual date, his first date, and then it hits him that its not with Mickey, and he feels a lurch in his stomach, and he wonders if he did the right thing when he agreed to go out with Chris. And then he laughs at himself. He laughs at himself because he's an idiot. He's an idiot for thinking that he could ever get Mickey, that Mickey would ever want him, that they could ever be more than what they are now. Mickey didn't hate him, he knew that, they were quite good friends, but that's all they were: _friends_. And he's trying his hardest to fill his head with what he can remember about Chris, and he doesn't feel any guilt when he realises he can't even picture Chris' face properly, because there's a certain smirking brunette dominating his thoughts and he doesn't even bother blocking the thought of Mickey anymore, because he knows goddamn well that its not gonna happen. But he repeats Chris' name in his head, forcing himself to see blonde hair instead of black, and he doesn't know who he's trying to convince more, himself or everyone else? His mind is saying Chris, Chris, Chris, but the name that comes out of his mouth when he collides with someone as he steps out of the bathroom is, “ _Mickey_! Jesus, fuck, Mick!”

“Calm down, hotshot,” Mickey says, a stupid smirk tugging at his lips, and he forces his eyes to stay above Ian's neck, because he would probably drool if he looked at Ian's bare torso too long. It was bad enough that he had made contact with Ian's skin, wet and hot from the shower he had just taken, and now, he had just heard Ian curse, and it was probably the sexiest thing Ian had ever done, so he says, “You do realise you just said ‘fuck’, right?”

And Ian immediately blushes, his skin blazing up and he casts his eyes down to avoid Mickey's hard stare, but its almost impossible not to feel giddy inside, so he quickly says, “Everybody says it a lot around here, it just caught on, I guess. I'm sorry.”

Then Mickey laughs, so bright and bubbly, Ian can't help but look up to see a goofy smile on Mickey's face as he says, “Don't be sorry. It sounds good on you.” And Ian scoffs, but a grin sneaks onto his face, giving him away. Then Mickey asks, “So, why are you getting all showered and shit?”

Ian hesitates, his face tight, but then he realises he's done nothing wrong, and that what he's about to say wouldn't even interest Mickey, so he blurts out, “I have a date.” Mickey arches an eyebrow. “With that guy from the store just now.”

Mickey's face scrunches up, and he snorts, “You serious? That blonde wuss?”

Ian rolls his eyes, but shrugs, saying, “Yeah, him. Chris.” Then he frowns when Mickey's jaw clenches and the thought that Mickey was jealous sparks in his mind, but it immediately vanishes when Mickey says, “Well, have fun fucking him.” 

Then Mickey disappears down the hallway and Ian is left standing there, half naked, confused by Mickey's many mixed signals and he sighs, going back to his room to get ready. Mandy had put out an outfit for him as soon as he called her to tell her about Chris and she literally screamed into the phone, almost deafening Ian, but she had raced straight to the house to throw together his best clothes because “boys are hopeless at fashion” and “for a gay guy, your clothes are really bad”, and he had no choice but to agree, and he puts on the clean white shirt and dark wash jeans, and once he says a goodbye to the half-asleep Lip, he jogs down the stairs to the living room and he reaches for his jacket, but stops halfway when he hears, “Where the fuck did you get those clothes?”

“Mandy picked them out for me,” Ian replies, turning to Mickey, who's sitting in the couch with his legs propped up on the table, a beer in his hand. Then Mickey glances at him and smirks, saying, “You look good. If you wanted a guy's opinion.”

Ian laughs at that, and he doesn't know whether he's smiling because its funny or whether its because Mickey had just said he looked good, so he plays it cool, saying, “Be careful, Mick. Two compliments in one night? People might get the wrong idea.”

Mickey scoffs, chucking slightly as he shakes his head and he says, “Fuck you, Gallagher.” And with Ian looking that good with his fitting clothes and his fresh face, he really wishes he could.

•

“So, what are you doing in Chicago?” Ian asks, and its the millionth time he's started up a new conversation because every single time he does, they both end up not knowing what to say and they fall into an awkward silence.

And again, Chris clears his throat, sitting up straighter and he answers, “Business. You? I mean, uh, did you grow up here?”

“No, no,” Ian replies quickly, then adds, “My family's a bit fucked up, so...”

“Right,” Chris says, nodding, trying to force a laugh but he can't, so he asks, “You're not having a good time, are you?”

Ian splutters, almost choking on his drink and he stammers, “W-What? No! I mean, yes, of course! I-I just- Jesus. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Chris waves him off, a sad smile on his face, and he asks, “Its just- If you don't like me, why'd you agree to come tonight?”

Ian feels his face burn when he admits, “I was high.” Then he sighs, a half-smile creeping onto his face. “I guess I thought if I went out with you, it would keep my mind off someone else. And I know that's a real dick move, but I just thought you should know.”

Chris nods, and he's not at all surprised. He saw the way Ian's face lit up when he mentioned the guy in the store, and the way Ian's face fell when he had said that he was just a friend. So he understands, and he says, “Its him, isn't it? The guy back at the store?”

With a small smile and the most confidence in the world, Ian answers, “Yeah, its him. _Its Mickey._ ”

•

“Hey, hey, someone's home early,” is what Ian hears as he walks into the dim living room.

“Mickey?” Ian asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn't sleep,” Mickey answers, and he wants to tell Ian its because he was too busy worrying about when and if Ian would come home, but he doesn't. Instead, he asks, “What are you doing here?”

Ian sighs, dropping himself onto the couch, right next to Mickey and their arms are practically smushed up against each other but neither of them say anything about it, and Ian sinks deeper into the seat, a blank look on his face. “Didn't go well.”

“What, the guy found out you're still fourteen?” Mickey teases, smirking at Ian.

Ian nudges his side with his elbow, saying, “No. We just didn't click.” Then he adds, laughing, “And I'm seventeen, you asshole.”

“Alright, alright,” Mickey says, laughing, shoving Ian's shoulder. “So, what do you mean you didn't click? I saw you lookin' at the guy with googly eyes back at the store.”

Ian scoffs lightly, shaking his head, and his eyelids start to flutter as sleepiness overcomes him. “He was hot. I'm not denying that. But he couldn't hold a conversation, a-and he wasn't funny, and I don't know, it was just...”

“What?” Mickey asks, glancing over at Ian and he notices how Ian's body is slowly going limp, and he's leaning his body against Mickey's, and it makes Mickey smile.

“He bored me,” Ian says, and his head drops onto Mickey's shoulder, his eyes shutting, his soft hair ruffling against Mickey's neck, and Mickey doesn't push him away. He doesn't even try.

And before Ian plunges into a deep sleep, he hears Mickey ask, “ _Do I bore you?_ ” And he wants to say no, but he's already too tired to speak, so he buries his face deeper into Mickey's neck, hoping that Mickey understands. And he thinks Mickey does, because he feels Mickey's head fall onto his, and he can finally fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 7
> 
> This chapter was long overdue!!! Took me almost two weeks to finish it and I can't apologise enough for being so late and I can't thank you enough if you're still reading this! I'm not gonna make any excuses for being late because truth is, I've been lazy and I wasn't pushing myself to finish it, but I hope you like this chapter and I'm sorry if its not long enough and I'm sorry that I suck at Ian's interactions with anyone other than Mickey (whoops!) but well, let me know, what do you think Mickey and Ian's reactions will be when they wake up on each other? ;)


	8. So, really, Mick, what'd you do to Ian?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey makes the mistake of upsetting Ian and is confronted about it by Mandy and Lip, while Ian confronts his own problem.

“Why is Ian sleeping on you?”

Mickey gasps, his heart hammering as he's jolted awake when he hears Carl's voice, and he scrambles off the couch from under Ian's body on his lap, getting to his feet and Ian slowly stretches across the couch, his eyelids flutter open and his lips pull into a goofy smile, and Mickey has to press his hands to his face to hide the red tint in his cheeks. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes, and he has to fight the urge to kick Ian in the face because he looks so clueless, with that stupid smile and those wide eyes and the endless yawning. So, he turns to Carl and says, “Get the fuck out of here. You didn't see anything.”

Carl rolls his eyes, saying, “Whatever.” Then he shoves Mickey in the stomach and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Ian staring at the two of them in confusion. Ian glances up at Mickey, whose face is a mixture of anger, worry and oddly, bliss. He has that familiar scowl on his face, and the muscles in his cheek are jumping from his jaw clenching, but somehow, he almost looks happy. So, Ian asks, “What happened?”

Mickey turns to Ian slowly, his body rigid and his eyes dart from Ian's eyes to his lips to his body and back to his eyes, and Mickey shakes his head, saying, “Nothing. Its just- You fell asleep on me. Its- Whatever. Forget it.”

“Wha-”

“Just fucking forget it, alright?” Mickey snaps, making Ian freeze, gulping loudly. Ian slowly gathers himself, standing up and he quietly walks over to the stairs, and he turns his head back to say, “Sorry.” Then he pauses, running his tongue over his bottom lip and he adds, “And the answer to your question last night is no, you don't.”

Mickey sighs, feeling guilt consume him and saying, “No, Ian, hey! Don't-” But Ian's already gone upstairs, and Mickey's left staring at an empty staircase, so he kicks the couch, a string of curse words coming out of his mouth, and that earns him a “Mickey, shut the fuck up!” from Fiona, so he grumbles to himself, sinking into the seat and he drums his fingers on his knees as he waits for Ian.

Ian. Stupid, stupid Ian. With his stupid big smile and his stupid red hair and his stupid puppy eyes, all of which made Mickey feel funny inside, in ways no one ever made him feel before. It was unexplainable and Mickey didn't like it. He didn't like the fact that he wasn't in control of what he felt, he didn't like the fact that he couldn't just forget Ian, he didn't like the fact that for the first time ever, he actually cared about someone other than himself. In this world, if there was one good thing that Mickey learned, it would be that you have to put yourself first. Sure, Mandy, the Gallaghers, they were important to him and he'd help them out if they needed him to, but if it came down to a point where it was his life or theirs, he'd save himself, and it makes him sick to the stomach when he thinks about how selfish he could be when they have all stuck out their asses more than once to save him, but hey, the lone ranger survives. But Ian, fucking Ian. Ian made him want to run across all four corners of the Earth if it meant that Ian would be safe, and made him want to tuck Ian in every night just to know that he was okay, and made him want to make sure that there was never a frown on Ian's face because who was he to deny the world of such a beautiful smile? Mickey didn't like the fact that he thought these things, because these aren't the kind of things that a Milkovich thought about and maybe where Ian came from, being... _that_ was a normal thing, but when you're a Southside kid, its not that easy and Mickey didn't fucking like it. But what he did like was Ian, and there was no way in hell that he could convince himself otherwise.

Mickey gets to his feet quickly when he hears, “Ian? No breakfast?” Then he hears Ian's voice say, “No, I gotta go. I'm late. But thanks, Fi.” So Mickey walks over to the door of the kitchen, where Ian is about to pass through but then he sees Mickey, and he rolls his eyes, turning around. But Mickey grabs his arm, pulling him into the living room, and Ian lets him. How could he not? Sure, Mickey's hostility towards him in the morning hurt him deep in his chest, but he can't remember a time where he felt more safe at night than last night, with Mickey. And the heat from Mickey's hand was searing into his arm, even though he was bundled up in three layers, so he let himself be dragged into the living room, to the front door. And then they're both silent, and Mickey still has his hand on Ian's elbow, and then, Mickey mutters, “I'm sorry.”

Ian's eyebrows raise and he leans his head down, turning his ear towards Mickey, saying, “What?” 

And Mickey bites his tongue, cursing under his breath, then repeating louder, “I'm sorry.” 

Ian just stares back at him, his lips pursed and his eyebrows arched, and he says, “Sorry for?” 

But Mickey just sighs, removing his hand from Ian's arm to run his fingers through his hair and he says, “I don't know. Just- Sorry.” I mean, what was he supposed to say? ‘ _Sorry I freaked out that we fell asleep together_ ’? ‘ _Sorry I got pissed at you for wanting to know more about us falling asleep together_ ’? ‘ _Sorry I am a downright asshole who can't, for the love of God, understand why falling asleep with you made me feel more at peace than I ever have in my nineteen years of existence_ ’? He couldn't do that.

But Ian wasn't having any of it, so he just nods, clicking his tongue, muttering, “Right. Okay.” And he tries to move to the front door, but Mickey darts in front of him, blocking his way.

“ _Okay?_ What the fuck does that mean?” Mickey asks, his eyebrows pulling together in a frown and Ian just shakes his head.

“Get out of my way, alright?” Ian grumbles, trying to sidestep Mickey. “I gotta get to work.”

“What, so you can pick up another lame-ass guy who you're not gonna like?” Mickey sneers, thinking that he could lighten the mood, but it does the exact opposite because Ian scowls at him.

“Fuck you, Mickey,” Ian says, then shoves him out of the way, racing out of the door, leaving Mickey gaping, a heavy pit in his stomach, and it gets even worse when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lip standing by the tv, a bowl of cereal in his hand, but he's not eating it. Instead, he's staring at Mickey with a dark look in his eyes and Mickey's known Lip far too long to know that this wasn't going to end well for him, so he forces himself not to make some smartass comment and to just take any hits Lip's about to give and he's right, because Lip finally says, “Mick, what was that?” Mickey doesn't answer. Lip repeats himself, “Mickey, what the fuck was that?”

“Nothin',” Mickey mutters, shaking his head. But its not the answer Lip wants because then he says, “Bullshit! You think I'm blind or something, Milkovich?” And Mickey knows its bad when he starts using last names. “I saw that. I saw Ian push you and I heard what he said, and that's not something Ian would do for no reason, so obviously you did something to piss him off. So, I'm asking you again, what'd you do to him, Mick?”

“I didn't fucking do anything!” Mickey argues, and he knows he did, but he couldn't tell Lip. Lip couldn't know that he had any feelings whatsoever for Ian. He couldn't.

Lip puts down the bowl and walks over to Mickey, grabbing the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. “I know, okay, Mickey? I know the truth.” What does he know? _What does he know?_ Oh God, _what does Lip know?_ “I know you're jealous. Ever since Ian got here, you've been different. You think he's taking your place in the family, don't you? You're jealous that I'm close to him now, and that Mandy's his best friend, and that Fi and Debs and Carl and Liam love him, because they never treated you that way. And look, I'm sorry, man, I never wanted you to feel that way, because in the end, you're just as much like family to us as he is, but if you ever hurt him or start up any shit with him, then you're as good as dead, you hear me?”

And Mickey almost laughs at how wrong Lip is, at how Lip didn't even come close to figuring out the truth, but that's Lip. Thinks he's a genius because he's the one who made his way into college, thinks he can figure out every single thing in the world, but he can't. Lip couldn't even figure out that his own best friend was... _you know_ , and that he was falling for his little brother. But Mickey wanted to keep it that way, so he nods, saying, “I hear you. I'm sorry, alright?”

Then Lip releases his grip on Mickey, his features going soft and he pats Mickey's shoulder, saying, “Good. Good.”

•

“What's up with you?” Mandy asks, picking at a chocolate bar. She's sitting cross-legged on the counter as she watches Ian aggressively shove packets of noodles onto the shelves.

“Nothing,” Ian mumbles, not bothering to even look at her. But she keeps pestering him, throwing an apple at him, but he catches it, and he snaps, “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”

“Its lunch time,” she replies with a scowl, then adds, “Just because you're mad at someone, it doesn't mean you can take it out on me, okay?”

Ian feels a stab in his chest, and his shoulders go limp as he walks over to Mandy and drops his head into her lap and he groans, making her laugh a little, ruffling his hair. She grabs both sides of his head, lifting it while squeezing his cheeks. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry at you,” he says, pouting his lips, and she shrugs, pressing her forehead to his, and she says, “I'll forgive you when you tell me what's going on.”

He sighs, grumbling, “Boys are stupid.” Then she laughs loudly, giving his head a small shove as he climbs onto the counter next to her, pulling her to his body, because she's visibly shivering and they both needed the heat. She puts her arms around him, and she mutters into his shirt, “I think sometimes you forget that you're a boy too.”

He rolls his eyes, but he says, “But its true. Boys _are_ stupid. Especially the ones that don't like you back.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she mumbles, looking up at him, and he sighs, obviously about to jump into a long lecture about how it isn't his fault he wasn't attracted to her sexually, so she quickly adds, “But I'm over it. Really, I am.” Then she gives him a skeptic look, asking, “Is it Chris? I thought he was the one who asked you out.”

Ian shakes his head, saying, “No, its not him. Honestly, I sort of forgot about him till you mentioned it. I mean, last night was a fluke, we didn't get along at all.”

Then she suddenly smacks his stomach, pulling away from him and he starts saying, “Wha-” But she cuts him off, yelling, “You like someone else and you didn't tell me?” She hits him again and he whines, rubbing his torso. “Well, I- I'm not even sure that I like the guy.” Mandy raises an eyebrow, and Ian caves in, saying, “Okay, _fine_ , I do like him. A lot. But he's a prick. I mean, sometimes he can be really nice, but other times, he's a total dick. Like today. Sort of. He was a jerk, but then he tried to make up for it, but I tried playing hard to get, but I don't think it really worked, and now I'm the bad guy, but really, he's the one who screwed it up first. And he's got a really great laugh, but he doesn't laugh a lot, because, I don't know, he thinks he's too cool for that shit or something. But I make him laugh sometimes, and its so good to hear it, and I like to think that I make him smile too, but I don't know. And the worst part is, he doesn't even like me! I mean, there's no way that he could ever-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, horsey,” Mandy says, gripping both of Ian's shoulders, shaking him to make him shut up. “Breathe.”

Ian lets out a long heavy breath and he says, “He's an asshole, but he's the kind of asshole that you just can't hate.”

Mandy chuckles softly, and she sighs, “The guy sounds a lot like Mickey.” And Ian's face must have fell, because Mandy gasps loudly, her grip on Ian tightening so much that her nails are digging into his skin and she almost screams, “You have got to be kidding me. _No fucking way!_ Ian! Are you insane?” Then in a softer, lower voice, she says, “You know that Mickey isn't gay, right?”

“I know!” Ian yells back, his eyes wide. “I know, I know, I know. Which is why you can never, ever, _ever_ tell him. Please, Mandy, promise me you'll keep this between us? _Please?_ ”

She loosens her hold on him, and she looks at him with pity, then she pulls him to her and hugs him so tightly, whispering, “I promise. But Ian? Promise me you won't let this go any further, because I don't want to see you get hurt. Do you promise?”

And he nods, saying, “Yeah.” But he's lying. To her, to himself, to everyone else. He would let himself get hurt over and over and over again, if it was for Mickey, and he's pretty sure that wasn't good for him, but Mickey made him want to do everything that was the opposite of good and he wouldn't have it any other way.

•

“So, what'd you do to make Ian so upset?”

“Jesus, fuck! Mandy!” Mickey splutters, coughing from the smoke of his cigarette. Mandy had appeared out of nowhere, in the abandoned building that Mickey called his own, and he's always made sure he was alone whenever he came here, so he asks, “How'd you find me?”

“Oh please, I followed you here the first time you found the place back when we were kids,” Mandy sneers, rolling her eyes, and she jumps up onto the platform where Mickey is sitting, and she sits herself down next to him, taking his cigarette from his cold fingers.

“You're supposed to be in school,” he says in a snarky tone, and he snatches back his cigarette, which he holds far from her reach now.

And she says, “Right, because your attendance record is a shining example, big brother.” She pats his chest lightly, then takes the cigarette and throws it aside, then she knocks him down and sits on top of his stomach, her forearm pinned to his neck in an attempt to keep him down, and she snaps, “So, really, Mick, what'd you do to Ian?”

He grunts, then flips them over so her back is on the dusty ground and his hands clamp over her skinny arms, and he growls, “Tell your boyfriend to fight his own battles.”

She tries to break free of his hold, but he's too strong, so she lifts up her knee and kicks him in the groin, throwing him off of her, and she gets to her feet, her arms crossed over her chest and she says, “We both know he's not my boyfriend, so cut the crap and tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Ah, Jesus,” he groans, getting up and setting himself as far away from her as he could. He asks, “Lip talk to you? Is he the one who put you up to this?”

“Lip?” Mandy echoes, her expression going from full on rage to confusion, because she doesn't remember Lip being a part of any of this. “What does Lip know?”

“Lip,” Mickey grunts, hoisting himself up onto a metal bar, repeatedly pulling his body up. “Lip thinks that I'm getting on Ian's ass because I'm jealous that he's the new family favourite and they all don't give two shits about me anymore. But, you know me, don't you, Mandy?”

“Yeah, you don't two shits about them either,” she mutters, then asks again, “So, if that's not it, then why were you messing with Ian?”

Mickey sighs, dropping himself from the bar and he kicks at a brick, saying, “Why do you care anyway?”

“Because he's my best friend,” she answers, her eyebrows raised. “And I don't like seeing him all mopey and down.”

“You seen him today?” he asks suddenly, his head lifting. “How is he?”

“Not good, thanks to you,” she sneers, but her eyes watch him warily as his expression grows deeper and she wonders why he even cares. But she sighs, saying, “Look, whatever you did to him, fix it. And don't ever do it again.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, but she gives him a sharp look so he groans, saying, “Christ, fine! I'll fucking talk to him, alright?”

“You better.” She nods, then with an eyebrow raised, she asks, “Anything else you wanna tell me?”

“Like what?” he says irritably, fed up with his sister's antics.

_Like, are you secretly gay?_ she says in her mind, but she doesn't dare say it out loud, so she just shrugs, and she's smiling because she saw the look on his face when he asked about Ian and its the same look Ian had on his face when he was talking about Mickey earlier, and she wonders how she never saw it before, but what really matters is that she sees it now, and she wonders if anyone else does.

“No, I don't have anything else to tell you,” Mickey snaps, his eyes rolling and his lips scowling, and he runs his thumb over his bottom lip, which has always been a sign that he was lying.

“Right.” She laughs, and she turns to leave, but then she cocks her head at him one last time, saying, “And Mick?”

“What?” He turns to her with a glare, but then he's taken aback by her bright grin, and he's even more creeped out when she says, “You've always been a bad liar.”

•

Stupid boys, stupid feelings, stupid Mickey. _Mickey, Mickey, Mickey._ Ian sighs loudly at the fact that even after today, Mickey Milkovich is still the only thing on his mind, and he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, get rid of Mickey, and he hates himself because he doesn't even want to get rid of Mickey. In fact, he wanted Mickey, in every way. He wanted to be his best friend, the person Mickey spilled his guts to. He wanted to be his boyfriend, the person Mickey would kiss and hold hands with. He wanted to be his lover, the person Mickey would sleep with at night, and in the morning, and every other time in the world. He wanted Mickey, but Mickey would never want him.

Ian's suddenly knocked back, tripping over his own feet as he stumbles over the brick pavement, a small – but sturdy – weight launching itself onto him, latching its tiny little arms around his body and he looks down to see wild red hair, the girl's eyes watery and bloodshot. Ian smiles down at her, cupping her face, saying, “Hey, Debbie, what's going on? Why are you crying?”

“I'm not crying,” she sniffles, then she groans, pressing her face to his chest, bawling loudly.

He squeezes her tightly, asking again, “Come on, Debs, what happened?”

She pulls away from him, her lips quivering and she starts rambling, “T-this guy, he asked me out and he- he pretended to like me, b-but it was all a p-prank and then, he-” Then she breaks down into sobs, hugging him again and he frowns, holding her closer, rubbing circles into her back, rocking her back and forth, whispering, “Its okay, Debs, everything's okay,” into her ear. Then, once she's calmed down, he wipes her tears away, and she gives him a wavering smile, saying, “Thanks, Ian.”

“Yeah,” he says, then puts his arm around her shoulders and he starts steering them towards the house, their shoes crunching the ice beneath them.

“Boys are such jerks,” she mutters suddenly, kicking at a block of hard ice by the sidewalk. “You think they like you, but its so obvious they don't, but you want them to like you so much that you pretend that they do.”

Ian chuckles lowly, saying, “Yeah, tell me about it. I know exactly how you feel. Boys are assholes.”

Debbie looks up at him with a furrowed look, then slowly she asks, “Ian, are you gay?”

He laughs a little at how quickly she caught on, but nods. “Yeah, I am.” And he's surprised at how easily it slips off his tongue, and the weight of it feels so much lighter now compared to before, and its an amazing feeling.

“Oh,” she says, then grins. “That's cool. So, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Like I said, boys are assholes,” he replies with a heavy sigh, frowning. “There's a guy I like, but he's not gay. At least, I don't think so. Either way, he wouldn't be into me.”

“Why not?” Debbie asks, punching his stomach lightly. “You're a great guy, you know. You're handsome, you're funny and you're really nice. You're perfect!”

He grins at that, a warm feeling in his heart and he can't help but kiss the top of her head, saying, “Thanks, Debs, but really, I'm not perfect. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret here, okay?” She nods eagerly, and he whispers, “I have anxiety. I get panic attacks when I freak out.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn't look creeped out, or scared, she just looks... _intrigued_. “Does it hurt you?” she asks, and he thinks its the first time anyone's ever asked him that.

So, he thinks about it, then answers, “Sometimes. If its really bad.”

Then she gives him a bright grin, saying, “But you're strong, right?”

He laughs, nodding, “Yeah, that's right. And if any guy ever tries to hurt you again, I'll kick his ass.”

“Is that a challenge?” A voice says suddenly, and Ian halts, pulling Debbie closer to him, because he knows that voice, and its not a good one.

“So, you really are a Gallagher, then?” The person steps out of the shadows, and its the guy from the the alley the other day, and the rest of his gang huddle behind him. He walks over to Debbie, picking up a strand of her hair and twirling it around his finger. “Same hair, huh? I just hope you don't have the same attitude as this fag.” And Ian shoves the guy away, growling, “Don't touch my sister.”

The guy just laughs, saying, “Wouldn't want to. All you Gallaghers have some sort of STD and I'm not really into that shit.”

The rest of the guys laugh, but the tallest one with dark hair says, “Come on, Travis, she's just a kid. Leave her alone.”

Travis sends a glare at him, scowling, but then he backs off, saying, “Alright, its cool. But _you_ ,” he points at Ian. “You better man the fuck up soon, because this isn't over.”

Then they're gone, and Debbie is shaking, and she starts, “Ian-” But he shushes her, pressing his hand to her back, making them walk faster. 

“I'll handle it, Debs. Don't worry,” he says, but he's the one worrying, because he has no idea how to make them leave him or his family alone, and he was too full of pride to ask anyone for help. So he decides that he has to settle it. _Tonight._

•

Its past midnight and Ian is lying in bed, his eyes wide open and the ceiling looks vast above him, and he hears Carl's snoring, and Liam shuffles around under his covers every now and then, and he's sure that everyone else is asleep, but he can't get himself to drift off. So, he throws off his blanket and changes into decent clothes, then he quietly makes his way downstairs, and once he's got his jacket and boots on, he sneaks out the back door, immediately getting hit with a wave of cold air and he contemplates running back inside where its warm and safe, but then he hears Mickey's voice in his head saying, “ _Next time you see those assholes, beat the shit out of them._ ” So he toughens himself up, and he heads over to the alley where it all started.

“Hey, look who's back!” Travis chimes, as soon as Ian steps into the alley, and he knows there's no turning back now, and he sees the blonde one grinning at him eerily, and the other boys are watching him with sharp eyes, and then there's the guy who stood up for Debbie earlier, and he's standing further back, his face hard and blank. Travis walks over to him, and the rest of them follow, but he holds a hand up to tell them to stand back, and he smirks smugly at Ian, saying, “Have you come to beg for forgive-”

But he doesn't get to finish because Ian swings his fist into Travis' face, and he hears a crack, and there's red liquid on his knuckles now, from the blood gashing out of Travis' nose, and Travis cups his face, staggering back as the blonde guy catches him, but Travis pushes him away, barking, “Fuck off, Luke. I'm fine.” He wipes his nose, smearing blood all over his face and hand, but his eyes are dark and he cocks his head at the other three boys, and they nod, running over to Ian, but Ian moves away from them, tripping two of them and punching the other one in the stomach, making him double over.

“I got this,” Luke says, stalking over to Ian with long strides, but Ian darts away from him, knocking him on the back of his head, and he falls to his knees with a grunt, and Travis clicks his tongue, capturing Ian's attention.

“Not a very smart move, little Gallagher,” Travis mocks, an eerie smile dancing on his lips. “I thought that maybe we could settle this nicely, talk it out, you know? Maybe we could've even become friends. But now you've gone and fucked up all my brothers, _and my face_ , so I don't think that's gonna happen anymore.”

Ian backs up, but he jumps slightly when his back meets someone's arms, and he realises that they've all recovered from his hits and he's surrounded. Hands clamp around his shoulders, and their beady eyes are trained on him, and Travis gets closer and closer, and Ian feels the burning sensation in his lungs, and he knows his anxiety is acting up again, and he tries to break free from their hold, but he can't, so he pleads, “Please, no. You can't do this. I-I have a problem, I can't-”

“Can't _what_?” Travis says, then slams his foot into Ian's shin, making him collapse to his knees. “Can't handle a little blood?” He brings his knee up to Ian's chin harshly, and blood spills out from Ian's mouth. “Can't take a hit?” He socks Ian right in the middle of his face, and a loud cracking noise is heard, and Ian's sure that his nose is broken, and warm blood dribbles down his face. “Well, too fucking bad,” Travis says, scowling down at Ian. And Ian can't breathe, his lungs squeezing in on itself, his throat closing up and he's choking, gasping for air, but he doesn't get it, because Travis knocks him down with a sharp kick to the stomach, and he's sprawled out on his side, groaning as he claws at his chest, struggling for oxygen. He doesn't know what happens next, because all he sees is black spots, but he feels hits all over his body, hard and quick, and he catches a glimpse of something shiny, and he's not sure what it is, until he feels his skin being sliced open on his stomach, and he's certain that its a knife, and he feels blood seeping through his thin clothes. They keep hitting him and kicking him, and its getting harder and harder for him to keep breathing, and he knows that he's got tears running down his face, but mixed in with the blood, they probably don't notice. And finally, the hits stop coming, and his eyes flutter open for a moment to see the guy with the dark hair standing in front of him, and he hears Travis say, “Come on, Alex, finish him off.”

“Don't,” Ian croaks out, his voice hoarse and he coughs out blood. “ _Please._ ”

“I'm sorry,” Alex mutters, then reluctantly bends down, lifting Ian's head with one hand, and bashing it in with the other, then he's gone, and Ian feels like his brain matter is pouring out of his ears, and he hears shuffling, and then nothing, and he realises they're all gone, and the squeezing feeling in his chest is still there and he's shaking, from the loss of blood or the cold weather, he's not sure. But what he's sure of is that he needs to get help. But from who? So as he struggles to pull out his phone, he clicks on the one name that's been flashing in his head all night and once the line clicks, he croaks out, “Mickey? I need your help. P-please.” He sucks in a sharp breath as the cut on his stomach is exposed to the dirty snow on the ground. “I-I'm in the alley. Please, hurry.” Then as he feels himself slip into unconsciousness, he whispers into the phone, “ _I think I'm going to die._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 8
> 
> Ahhhhh! So how was that ending?! Did I get the cliffhanger-ish feel right? Do you guys think Mickey's gonna get to Ian in time? Leave me your thoughts in the comments! :D


	9. Wanna go again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't need a summary except: IT FINALLY HAPPENS

“Mickey? I need your help. P-please,” is what Mickey hears as soon as he puts the phone to his ear, and he's frozen in place, and he can't bring himself to speak because Ian's voice sounds so weak, and he doesn't know why. Then he hears a sharp breath, and Ian sounds even more in pain, and Mickey's heart starts thumping, but he can't move, let alone say anything. “I-I'm in the alley. Please, hurry.” The alley? _The alley._ The Carver boys alley. He wants to yell at Ian, ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing going over there on his own, but he can't. He doesn't know why, but he just can't. Then, the last thing he hears is, “I think I'm going to die,” and he's suddenly jolted with adrenaline, and he leaves his room in a haste, racing to find Ian. To save Ian.

Mickey doesn't know how it was even humanly possible, but he got there in a few minutes, and he's wheezing, struggling to catch his breath, but then out of the corner of his eye, he sees a figure curled up on the ground, and even in the dark, he still recognises the red hair, and he hurries over to Ian, but Ian's not moving, and there's blood pooling around his face and his stomach, and Mickey has never seen anyone in a worse state.

“Ian?” he whispers, crouching down, but there's no response, and he hesitantly presses his fingers to Ian's neck, and thank God, there's a pulse. Its faint, but its there, and Mickey hasn't ever felt such a strong sense of relief in his life. Ian's skin is cold and drained of blood and spotted with bruises all over, and Mickey says, “Fuck. Ian, you fucking idiot.” And slowly, he slides his arms under Ian's body, lifting him carefully and Ian's head rolls back, and Mickey's afraid that his neck might just snap, so he moves his arm up until Ian's head is cradled in the crook of his elbow and his other arm is tucked under Ian's knees, and even though Ian's entire weight is on him, he feels like he's carrying a single feather, and he keeps his gaze locked on the night sky, because he's afraid he might break down if he looked at Ian in this state any longer. He keeps walking, and walking, and walking, and its almost two in the morning, so the only people who are out are the homeless and the drunk, so he doesn't care who sees him, he just keeps walking, and he doesn't go back to Gallagher house, because if he brought Ian home looking like this, God forbid that they believe _he_ wasn't the one who caused it, so he switches his direction and goes back the same way he came, to his own house. The Milkovich house.

•

Mickey sets Ian down on his bed and kicks the door shut, and he's sure his sheets are bound to be dirtied with muddy snow and blood, but he doesn't care. He just wants to help Ian. So the first thing he does is take off Ian's boots, and his socks, and his jacket, and now he's staring at Ian's t-shirt clad torso, but there's a huge rip on the lower part, and blood is gushing out of the cut on his stomach, and Mickey glances between the cut and Ian's face, and he's not sure what exactly he's supposed to do, because he's not a fucking doctor or anything, but Ian looks completely calm, and maybe that's because he's lost half of his blood and is on the verge of losing the rest unless Mickey does something, so Mickey does the most rational thing he can think of and he pulls off Ian's shirt – for medical purposes, of course, and not his own personal pleasure – but oh, _fuck_. That's a fit body. And Mickey can't stop himself from running his fingertips over Ian's chest, tracing the lines of his abs, but he's suddenly halted when his fingers meet the deep cut, and he remembers what he's supposed to be doing, so he disappears into the bathroom and returns with a first aid kit, and a bucket of warm water, and a towel. And slowly, he cleans up the wound, because God knows that he's mended to his own injuries more times than he can count and he dresses the wound, his hands lingering on Ian's skin after he's put the bandage on. Then he moves onto Ian's face. Ian's sweet, innocent face, now sporting a black eye and a busted lip and probably a broken nose from the looks of it. Mickey feels a sharp knife digging into his innermost feelings, trying to make him feel guilty for not being there with Ian, for not getting there earlier, for letting this whole thing happen because he should've put those Carver scums in the hospital from the moment they even laid eyes on Ian, and it works because he does feel guilty. It is his fault. He keeps that thought in his head and he works on cleaning up Ian's face, wiping away the blood until he's fresh-faced again, and Mickey finds himself smiling because somehow, even with the bruises and the cuts, Ian is still the most attractive person he's ever laid eyes on and the fact that Ian's topless on his bed makes him feel all bubbly inside. So after he puts away the medical kit and kicks off his own shoes, he slowly climbs onto the bed, placing himself next to Ian, far enough to stop himself from doing something he wasn't supposed to do, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off Ian's body, and it takes every ounce of self-discipline to keep his hands from touching Ian, just to know that he was real, just to know that his heart was beating, just to know that for this tiny moment, Ian was his. But as he watches Ian's chest rise and fall, and Ian's eyelids flutter every now and again, and Ian's lips quiver, Mickey finds himself unable to maintain the control over himself, and he slowly reaches for Ian, wanting to trace every line of his face and feel his warm skin, but he pulls his hand back quickly when Ian gasps loudly, his body shooting up and his breaths are heavy and loud, like he's panting.

“I can't breathe- I need- Where am I? Help me! Please, I can't- Help-”

But Mickey cuts him off, grabbing his shoulders and forcing Ian to look at him, and he says, “Ian! Hey, Ian, look at me. Its okay, you're okay. You're with me. You're safe. Its me, its-”

“Mickey,” Ian chokes out, then falls forwards, collapsing against Mickey's body and Mickey sits there awkwardly, not sure what to do and he's certain Ian is sobbing, so he just chuckles lightly, saying, “Yeah, its Mickey.”

Ian gets himself together and pulls away, and his cheeks are red, and he hesitates before saying, “You came for me.” And Mickey looks confused, saying, “Course I did. Why wouldn't I?” 

Ian casts his eyes down, muttering, “I don't know. I just thought, maybe, after this morning, you'd hate me.”

“Hey,” Mickey says, nudging Ian and making him lift his head, and he says, “I'd never hate you.”

A smile crosses Ian's face and he says, “I'd never hate you too.” And Mickey snorts, and they fall into silence, glancing at each other, then Ian looks down at himself, and his eyebrows pull together as he asks, “Did you undress me?”

Mickey is taken aback by the question and he has to look away for a second. “No,” he answers too quickly and then he mentally curses himself, adding, “Maybe.” Then his jaw clenches as Ian's eyebrows raise, and he admits, “Yes.” Then when a goofy smile starts to form on Ian's lips, he adds, “Fuck off. You were bleeding, alright?”

Ian laughs loudly, but then he coughs, groaning as his hand presses the large bandage on his stomach, “Fuck. That hurts. Is it deep?”

“Sort of,” Mickey replies, shrugging. “You'll live.”

“You did all this?” Ian motions to the bandages and the plasters covering his wounds.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, then he gets up, clapping his hands together, saying, “So, uh, since you're up and breathing, you should probably get home. Its late, you know?”

“No!” Ian blurts out, then bites his tongue, trying not to sound so needy. Then slowly, he says, “I mean, can I- I was wondering if I could- I don't know. Is it okay if I stay? I don't really wanna go home looking like this. Its fine if I can't, I just-”

“You can stay,” Mickey says, cutting him off and he can't stop himself from smiling at how stupid Ian looks, tripping over his own words, then he sits back down on the edge of the bed, and he asks the question that's been tugging at his mind the entire night, “Why me?”

“What do you mean?” Ian asks, but he knows what Mickey's trying to say, but he averts his gaze, because he knows he can't fool Mickey if he's looking into those pretty blue eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Mickey replies, and he feels blood creeping up his neck, lighting his cheeks, because what if he's just overthinking this and Ian doesn't get what he's trying to say? But he's almost certain Ian does and he's right, because Ian sighs loudly.

“I called you because... I don't know,” Ian says, his shoulders slumping, and he keeps his eyes locked on the sight of his feet.

"Come on, Ian,” Mickey presses, ducking his head to meet Ian's eyes and Ian immediately flushes when he does that.

Ian mumbles something, so quickly and softly that Mickey doesn't catch it, so Ian repeats it louder, “Because I wanted you to come. Not anyone else.”

“You... wanted... _me?_ ” Mickey repeats slowly, hesitating before looking at Ian, whose eyes are glancing everywhere except at him.

Ian finally settles his gaze on Mickey's face and he takes a deep breath, and he says, “Yeah, I did. I mean, I _do_. I want you.”

“You-”

Then Ian kisses him, his lips pressing against Mickey's, but Mickey doesn't respond, his body stiff and Ian's eyes squeeze shut as he realises he just made the biggest mistake of his entire life, and he pulls away awkwardly, looking at Mickey, whose sitting there frozen in place with wide eyes, and Ian says, “Sorry.”

Then Mickey snaps out of his trance, saying, “You don't have to be sorry.”

“No, I do,” Ian insists, shaking his head roughly. “I- I shouldn't have done that. I was out of line and I-”

“Ian?” Mickey interrupts, his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“You're a fucking idiot,” Mickey says, a big smile spreading across his face and he leans forwards, putting his lips on Ian's and Ian almost chokes, but he quickly recovers, kissing Mickey back, and Mickey's smile gets even wider, his tongue running over Ian's bottom lip, and Ian immediately opens his mouth, letting Mickey in, and their tongues meet, exploring each other's mouths.

Ian's back is pressed against the pillows, and Mickey is leaning on top of him, his hand on the back of Ian's neck, his fingers sliding up into Ian's hair and Ian's hand reaches under Mickey's shirt, going from his stomach to his chest, then Mickey suddenly pulls away, almost leaping off the bed, his body becoming cold from the sudden lack of contact, and he says, “Ian, no, we can't. You- I mean, you don't have to. You're _hurt_. I can't do this to you right now.”

Ian frowns, shaking his head, standing up and he says, “I'm fine, really. I'm okay.”

“But you-”

“Look, if you don't want to, then just say so,” Ian grumbles, his frown deepening.

“I want to!” Mickey groans, pressing his hands to his face. “I've wanted to since the first fucking time I met you. But I don't wanna hurt you, Ian.”

“You won't!” Ian argues, his jaw muscles tightening. “It doesn't hurt. _I promise._ ”

“Okay, maybe it doesn't hurt,” Mickey sighs, his hand running through his hair and it doesn't help with the sensations Ian has in his stomach right now. “But its three in the morning. We don't have to do this now. We can wait.”

“No,” Ian mutters, pointing a finger at Mickey. “I have waited for you for far too long, and I'm done waiting. I swear to God, if I have to wait another second-”

“Okay!” Mickey yells, caving in, because he knows that he's been waiting a long time too and now that he finally has Ian in his grasp, he doesn't know why he's so insistent on pushing him away. So he says, “Okay, okay. Jesus, you're a hardass. Just- I mean, are you sure?”

“Yes, Mickey, I'm fucking sure,” Ian snaps, but then a teasing smirk creeps onto his face and he says, “Now, shut up and kiss me.”

So Mickey does, and he almost melts against Ian's body, wrapping himself in Ian's warmth and comfort, and Mickey's never been a kissing type of guy, but somehow, Ian made Mickey want to kiss him like there's no tomorrow and his lips move perfectly against Ian's, their tongues battling inside their mouths and Ian's hands slowly push Mickey's shirt up and they break the kiss for a second to tug Mickey's shirt off and even for that small moment, it feels like they were apart for a lifetime and they hungrily meet each other's lips again and Mickey's bare chest brushes against Ian's and he mutters, “Fuck, Ian,” against Ian's lips, pressing up against Ian's tough body and he feels himself getting hard, and he knows Ian is too, because Ian pulls away, panting.

“Can I top?” Ian asks, at the exact same time Mickey says, “I wanna bottom.” And they both laugh, and Ian hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Mickey's jeans, tugging him closer and he buries his face into the crook of Mickey's neck, inhaling his smoky scent and he trails kisses from Mickey's collarbone to his jawline, and Mickey visibly shudders, saying, “Don't be a fucking tease, ginger.” Ian chuckles, repeating the same thing on the left side of Mickey's face and Mickey grunts, restraining himself from kicking Ian in the crotch just to get things going, and he counts to ten in his head before tackling Ian onto the bed, his hands clamped around Ian's shoulders when he says, “I said, don't be a fucking tease.” Then suddenly he's flipped over and Ian is on top of him, straddling his waist and Ian looks down at him with a smug smirk, “Do you know how many times I've imagined this happening? This has all happened hundreds of times — _in my head_. So, I can be a fucking tease if I want to.”

Mickey props himself up on his elbows, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Ian, and he asks, “You've imagined this?” Ian shrugs and Mickey says, “ _Huh._ So have I.” Then Ian laughs and he leans down, wanting to kiss Mickey, but Mickey is the one who reaches up and pulls Ian's head down, their lips locking together and Mickey can finally taste Ian's lips and its a mixture of nicotine and blood but its Ian, so Mickey doesn't care, and Ian can taste beer on Mickey's tongue so he smiles, pushing his tongue deeper into Mickey's mouth. Then Mickey breaks the kiss, moving to Ian's neck, leaving kisses on his burning skin and he finds Ian's pulse point, sucking on it and his teeth graze Ian's skin and it makes Ian gasp loudly, pressing himself even more against Mickey's body.

“Ian,” Mickey whines, as he feels Ian's hard-on growing and pressing against his stomach, and he glances at Ian's crotch when Ian says, “What?” Then Ian realises what he's talking about and his face flushes, because he can feel Mickey's erection on his lower back and he jumps off of Mickey's body, then he kicks off his constricting jeans and pulls down his boxers, his dick rising immediately and Mickey almost gapes at Ian's naked body because its more than he ever imagined and he wastes no time in getting his own pants off while Ian watches him strip with a stupid boyish grin like its the first time he's ever seen anyone naked and Mickey has to look away to hide his blushing face because Mickey doesn't fucking blush but Jesus, he sure couldn't help it whenever Ian was around, then Ian's hands are suddenly on both sides of his face and he's forced to look at Ian, but Ian is smiling at him. Not that smug grin or that goofy beam or that teasing smirk. Just a heart-warming, sweet Ian Gallagher smile and it spreads a searing sensation from the tips of Mickey's toes to the rest of his body and he presses his forehead to Ian's, muttering, “I'm ready.”

Ian turns him around and he's surprisingly rough, for a guy who looks like he dances around in cotton candy or something, and Mickey is pleasantly surprised, because there's nothing sexier than a guy who plays rough, so he willingly bends over and Ian almost chokes on his own spit because _goddamn_ , Mickey Milkovich was bending over for him and he actually looks happy to do it, so then Ian asks, “Where's your shit?” And Mickey says, “Bottom drawer.” So Ian pulls open the drawer and grabs a condom and a bottle of lube. He puts on the condom faster than Mickey can offer to help and Mickey suddenly sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Ian's fingers inside him, the lube cold against his skin and he has to take long, deep breaths to steady his heart rate while Ian stretches him out, and he mutters, “Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep- _Fuck!_ ” Ian pushes his dick into Mickey, filling him up and he grunts as he tries to adjust to the tight space and Mickey almost whimpers at how big Ian is but he bites his tongue, holding it back, but he accidentally lets out a moan when Ian pulls out slowly, then slams himself back in and Ian snickers at Mickey's reaction, repeating the motion because hearing Mickey moaning was the most satisfying thing he's heard in his entire life. Ian continues at a slow pace, then Mickey snaps, “Could you go any slower, grandpa?” Then Ian puts his hand on Mickey's shoulder, pulling him up so that his chest is to Mickey's back and he whispers into Mickey's ear, “Do you want me to go slower?” Mickey can only shake his head because Ian's hot breath on his neck is enough to make him speechless, then Ian says, “Good, so shut the fuck up.” Then he pushes Mickey back down and he's not sure that the tough guy act is working, but he catches Mickey's toothy grin and he's not surprised that Mickey likes it rough, so he increases his pace, and one hand reaches for Mickey's cock, pumping it in the same rhythm, while his other hand is holding Mickey's hip firmly and it makes Mickey moan even more, with Ian's hand jerking him off and Ian's dick slamming into him and Ian's nails digging into his skin.

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian mutters, going even faster, because he feels his orgasm building up, and he's about to come. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Fuck! Ian!” Mickey erupts into Ian's hand and Ian follows right after, the two of them riding it out together until Ian groans, collapsing onto the bed. Mickey is panting and he doesn't even know why, but he falls back onto the bed next to Ian and he sighs, turning his head to Ian and Ian is already facing him, with a lazy smile stretched on his face as he says, “So, you're ga-”

“Don't fucking say it,” Mickey interrupts, averting his gaze. Ian rolls his eyes, murmuring, “Not saying it doesn't make it any less true.” And Ian motions at them with his hands, “We're two guys lying naked next to each other after having sex and you don't wanna say it.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” Mickey sneers, shoving Ian's shoulder. “I just- I can't, alright? I don't like the word. So, don't say it.”

Ian sighs, but he says, “Fine.” Then he asks, “Anyone else know?” 

Mickey shrugs, answering, “No.” Then he adds with a scowl, “But Mandy might. She was asking me all kinds of shit earlier, and the look she gave me just said it all.”

Ian snorts, holding back a laugh and he puts on a sheepish smile, saying, “That was my fault. I sort of told her that I like you.”

Mickey props himself up on one elbow, cradling his chin in his hand as he looks down at Ian with a raised eyebrow. “You like me?”

Ian lifts himself up too, mirroring Mickey's pose and he gives Mickey a deadpanned look, saying, “Oh, _no_. I just stuck my tongue down your throat and fucked you because I _don't_ like you.”

Mickey scowls at him, rolling his blue eyes, then he knocks Ian's arm down, making Ian fall back down to the bed with an ‘ouch!’ and Ian glares at him with narrowed eyes, saying, “What the hell was that for?” 

Mickey gives him a nonchalant shrug, saying, “For being a shithead.” 

Then Ian kicks him in the shin, but he laughs, and he says, “Yeah, well, you like this shithead.” And the way it rolls off his tongue so casually, and the way he's looking up at Mickey with bright eyes through his red lashes, and the way his grin spreads from ear-to-ear, makes Mickey's cheeks burn and he just falls back onto the bed, muttering, “Shut up.” 

Then Ian is suddenly on top of him, staring down at him with a teasing smirk, and Mickey gives him a blank look, saying, “Your dick is on my stomach. I don't think that's where its supposed to go.” And Ian laughs, shaking his head and he asks, “Wanna go again?”

And Mickey's about to agree, but then he catches a glimpse of Ian's stomach and he groans, pressing his palms to his face, saying, “Jesus, no! Ian!”

“What?” Ian frowns, shoulders slumping and he doesn't understand why Mickey would say no.

“You're bleeding through!” Mickey exclaims, pointing at Ian's bandage on his stomach which is now soaked in blood.

“Oh,” is all Ian says, looking down at the bandage and he groans, fighting the urge to just rip off the bandage and force the wound to heal right there and then, and he climbs off of Mickey, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed but Mickey blocks him, pushing him back up and he says, “Just- Uh, go take a shower, alright? I'll clean it up after.”

“What? No-”

“Just get in the fucking shower!” Mickey snaps, standing up to shove Ian in the direction of the bathroom, but Ian stands his ground and he crosses his arms over his chest, asking, “Will you come with me?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, but he replies, “Will you shut up?”

“Fine,” Ian says, then he grins, taking Mickey's hand and pulling him to the bathroom, and Mickey lets himself be dragged along and he just says, “Just so you know, I ain't shampooing your fucking hair.”

•

“You know, maybe you could stop fucking staring at me, you creep,” Mickey says, as he dabs antiseptic onto Ian's wound.

Ian sucks in a breath through his gritted teeth when the antiseptic stings him, but he gives Mickey a small grin, saying, “I was just imagining you in a nurse's outfit.”

Mickey stops what he's doing, looking at Ian with a grimace, saying, “The fuck were you doing that for?”

Ian giggles a little, then puts on a dreamy look, speaking in a high tone when he says, “Nurse Mickey, attending to my cuts and bruises.” Then he bursts out into laughter at Mickey's disgusted look and he says, between short laughs, “Maybe a doctor, then.” But Mickey just shakes his head and continues bandaging up Ian and he sighs when he's done, kicking the first aid kit aside because he's too tired to put it back where its supposed to be, and he's lying back on the bed, and he's about to shut his eyes, when Ian suddenly says, “So, now you wanna go again?” And Mickey slaps his own forehead, muttering curses under his breath and he shoots a look at Ian, asking, “You some kind of sex addict or some shit like that?”

Ian exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, and he pouts, his body slumping against the pillows as he mutters, “No.” Then Mickey laughs at how ridiculous he looks when he's sulking and he crawls up to Ian, dropping himself next to Ian, so close that his chin is resting on Ian's shoulder, and hesitantly, he says, “You know, I never asked you why you went after the Carvers.”

Ian just grunts, saying, “No, you didn't.” And Mickey sighs, moving away from Ian and leaning back against his pillows, saying, “So, you gonna tell me or am I just supposed to figure shit out myself?”

Ian turns to him, his eyes wide because he felt a sudden chill after Mickey moved and after a few moments of silence, he says, “ _You're_ the one who told me to beat the shit out of them if I ever saw them again.”

Mickey scoffs lightly then he says teasingly, “Yeah, that's when I thought you could actually take them on, not end up half-dead in the middle of the morning.”

Ian shoots a sharp look at him, grumbling, “I could take them on. I made that Travis guy bleed.” And Mickey's lips curve up, but then his smile falters when Ian adds, “But then they started ganging up on me and...”

“What?” Mickey asks, his eyebrows pulling together as he watches the blood drain from Ian's face.

“I-” Ian pauses, glancing at Mickey for a split second, but then he averts his gaze. “I had an attack.”

“An attack?” Mickey repeats, even more confused. “What, like, an asthma attack?”

“No,” Ian says, shaking his head. “It was a- a- Fuck. You know what, just forget it.”

“No!” Mickey almost shouts, but he remembers its the middle of the morning and he lowers his voice, hissing, “What attack, Ian?”

“Its nothing, okay?” Ian insists, his expression hard, and Mickey's about to object, but Ian quickly softens his face and frowns, saying, “They're gonna come for me, aren't they?”

And Ian's puppy look tugs at Mickey's heartstrings and he ignores the fact that Ian changed the subject, and he says softly, “No. I won't let them.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” Mickey interrupts, then gives him a small smile, moving himself closer to Ian, and his head falls onto Ian's shoulder, buried in the crook of his neck, and he feels Ian's chest vibrate when he sighs, and he can hear every beat of Ian's heart, and Ian's body is warm and soft. 

“Just go to sleep, okay?” Mickey murmurs against Ian's chest and his chapped lips brush against Ian's skin and it makes Ian shudder, his body curling against Mickey's and his head drops onto Mickey's, his eyes slowly closing and the last thing he hears before he falls asleep is, “You're safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 9
> 
> Sooo, there you go! The chapter we've all (yes, me included) been waiting for! I know this took a little while but I had some trouble writing the sex scene because its the first time I've ever written anything like that and its not very vivid but even then, I struggled to write that much so I'm sorry if it wasn't very good. But I hope you liked this chapter (I did!) and let me know in the comments!


	10. Why'd you call Mickey?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey takes Ian home and their attraction doesn't go unnoticed.

Ian's head is heavy when his eyes finally crack open, and he has to shut them again for a few moments as he's blinded by the morning sunlight, then he slowly opens them again, adjusting to the brightness and he yawns, shifting slightly under the covers and he winces when he feels a sudden surge of pain coming from his lower abdomen, and the events of last night flood his mind like a video montage. The alley, the Carver boys, punching Travis, the panic attack, then the hits... His nose, his jaw, his stomach- _Fuck_ , his stomach. The cut, the bruises, the bleeding. Unconsciousness. And Mickey.

_Mickey._

A lazy smile stretches across Ian's face when he thinks about Mickey, the way Mickey came to his rescue – _like a knight in shining armour_ , the way Mickey took care of him – _like he'd done it a thousand times before_ , the way Mickey kissed him – _like not kissing him would mean certain death_ , the way Mickey's body was perfect – _like it was built to fit his_ , and the way Mickey seemed almost free last night – _like he didn't have a care in the world_. 

But that wasn't true. Mickey did have a lot on his mind. The main thing being: _when am I gonna put those Carver kids 6-feet under?_ That was the first thought in his head when he woke up. Okay, second thought. The first was actually: _holy fucking Christ, Ian looks like an angel when he's asleep_. Mickey couldn't help but kiss Ian's forehead before he wiggled out of Ian's hold that morning and he doesn't know if Ian noticed, but Ian stirred a little and it scared him. It scared him to think that for a second, Ian could've realised that Mickey wasn't all he says he is, that Mickey was just as broken and lonely as everyone else in this fucked up town because that's what happens when you're born and raised in Southside. When you're in Southside, you become less than everyone else and sure, you chalk it up to the fact that its a shitty neighbourhood and your family's no good, but even then, you know that for the most part, its your own fault that you ended up this way. You could've been different, changed the course your life was about to take, but you don't. Instead, you waste your life away getting drunk and getting high and getting thrown into jail and its a cycle that never ends and you don't bother trying to end it because you tell yourself that its just the way things are and that's what makes you a Southside kid, but Ian wasn't a Southside kid and he wouldn't understand and that's what Mickey was scared of. That Ian wouldn't understand. But Ian's different. He proved that last night. Ian had more bravery in one finger than most Southsides did in their entire body because even the oldest and the wisest of this neighbourhood wouldn't dare walk into the Carvers' alley after dark and they claim its because they know better, but the truth is they were all scared shitless and everyone knew it. But no one ever says anything about it because no one gives a shit. That's another thing these Southsides consider normal – not giving two fucks about what happens to anybody for as long as it doesn't involve you or your money because its none of your damn business and that's what separates Ian from everyone else. Ian does care, whether it involves himself, his family, his friends, or anyone for that matter – he fucking cares and he makes it his fucking business. And that's what tells Mickey that he shouldn't be scared of Ian, its Ian who should be scared of him because Ian is good and Mickey wasn't exactly a shining example of a good person and if Ian was smart, he would stay away from Mickey, but Ian's proven countless of times that he isn't the brightest person when it comes to making important decisions and he runs off in the middle of the night and sometimes it turns out well, like the time he got Mickey out of an arrest, but sometimes it turns sour, like the time he almost died alone on a winter night. So, Mickey's not sure what he's supposed to do with Ian, but what he's sure of is that he fucking likes Ian and now that he's had a taste, there's no going back and all he wants is more and more. 

So as soon as Ian sits up, Mickey swoops down and takes Ian's face in his hands, pressing his lips to Ian's and Ian sighs. And its a sigh of relief because when he woke up without Mickey by his side, he thought that last night was all a dream or even if it was real, it was just a one-time thing that Mickey wouldn't want to talk about until 5 years later when he's had too much tequila and it slips off his tongue and no one can really understand him except Ian, but when Mickey kissed him, all those thoughts were washed away and replaced with thoughts of Mickey's chapped lips massaging his and Mickey's slick tongue exploring his mouth and Mickey's cold fingers cradling his face and Jesus, this wound hurts like a bitch. So he tries pushing Mickey away, his hand on Mickey's chest, but Mickey takes that as a sign that Ian wants more so he deepens the kiss, plunging his tongue deeper into Ian's mouth but Ian just rolls his eyes and does the only thing he can think of – he bites Mickey. And Mickey yells, “Fuck!”, leaping off of Ian and cupping his pulsing tongue and he tastes blood and he shoots an incredulous look at Ian, saying, “I know I like it rough, but this isn't the fucking Animal Planet or something, firecrotch.”

Ian raises an eyebrow at the odd nickname, but he smiles at it anyway, baring his teeth awkwardly. “Sorry.”

Mickey scowls, saying, “Sorry ain't gonna stop bleeding.” But he knows what does and he starts moving to the bathroom to rinse out the blood and get a towel. He's gotten hit in the face enough to know what to do when you get a bloody tongue, but he wants to make Ian feel a little guilty, purely for his own enjoyment of seeing Ian's puppy face as he tries to make up for his mistake and it makes Mickey grin when Ian's eyes get wider and his lips purse, because he looks like a little boy after getting scolded for watching too much tv and it reminds Mickey that under all of Ian's hard muscles and heroic gestures, there's a guy in there that's just as broken as he is, and he's not sure why that comforts him, but it does. It just does, but its his turn to feel guilty when Ian speaks.

“That's kinda what I mean,” Ian says, then points to his bandage which is stained red after bleeding through again.

“Oh, shit,” Mickey says, temporarily forgetting about his own bleeding to get the first aid kit, setting himself down next to Ian and he gets to work, removing the bandage and cleaning up the blood, and once he's done disinfecting the wound and placing a new bandage over it, he looks up at Ian and he notices a red splotch on Ian's neck and he can't help but burst into laughter, making Ian stare back at him with a blank look.

“What?” Ian asks, and his voice is soft. “What's so funny?”

Mickey rolls his lips in, trying to suppress his laughter and he finally manages to say, “I, uh, I gave you a hickey.” And Ian's hand immediately flies up to his neck, covering his pulse point but Mickey just snickers, tugging his hand away and he gives Ian a dashing smirk as he says, “Don't cover it up. It looks good on you.” Then Mickey leans down, running his tongue over the red mark and it makes Ian shudder and the atmosphere slips back into the sensual aura it was in a few minutes ago and Mickey's eyes grow darker with lust, but Ian ruins the moment by blurting out, “You got your blood on me.” And he's right, because Mickey's tongue is still bleeding and his eyes flicker with annoyance before he says, “Yeah, well, that's nothing compared to the amount of your blood that got on me last night.”

Ian just giggles, then reaches for a towel and wipes away the blood on his neck, but he leaves the lovebite exposed and Mickey smirks. Then Mickey gets up and walks over to a drawer where he digs around for a sweater and tosses a dark green one to Ian, and he says, “I'm gonna go clean up my tongue, so put on some clothes because after I'm done, I'm taking you home.”

“ _Home?_ ” Ian repeats, and he's not sure that he's ready to go home, but he doesn't have a choice because Mickey's already disappeared into the bathroom. So he shrugs on Mickey's sweater and its a little short for him, but he smells Mickey's scent on it and its enough to comfort him, and maybe he is ready to go home after all.

•

Lip is up early to make sure he doesn't miss his train back to school and he's so sick of going back and forth from here to his college, but he puts up with it because he can't stand staying in his dorm and he's willing to get on a train every other morning and every other night just to be home and sleep in his own bed and hear the sounds of breakfast being made and kids laughing and God, he loves it here. And he wonders if Ian loves it here too, so he walks down the hall to Ian's room and he pushes the door open, about to call Ian's name, but he stops himself when he sees Ian's empty bed with his covers bunched up at the edge of the bed and his pillow on the ground. Liam's sitting on his bed with a big smile and Carl zooms past Lip, knocking him slightly in the process so Lip quickly turns around and grabs the collar of Carl's shirt, pulling him back.

“Hey!” Carl yells, choking slightly and he yanks his shirt away from Lip and gives him a cold stare.

“You seen Ian?” Lip asks, glancing between Carl and the empty bed.

“No,” Carl answers, shrugging. “Gone when I woke up.” Then he tries to run again, but Lip drags him back yet again, making him groan.

“Is he downstairs?” Lip asks, keeping a firm hold on Carl's skinny arm.

Carl rolls his eyes, then grumbles, “I wouldn't know because you won't let me go.” So Lip does let him go, smacking the back of his head in the process and Carl punches him in the stomach before racing downstairs, then Lip looks over at Ian's bed one last time and he sighs because he knows something's not right and as he takes Liam into his arms, he asks, “Have you seen Ian, little man?” But Liam shakes his head and Lip laughs.

Debbie takes Liam from Lip as soon as they reach the bottom of the stairs, and Lip's eyes scan the kitchen but there's no sign of Ian, so he asks loudly, “Hey, anyone seen Ian?” And everyone turns to him, with furrowed looks on their faces, and Fiona's the first one to speak, saying, “He's not in his room?” 

And Lip shakes his head, saying, “Carl said he wasn't there when he woke up and uh, his bed isn't made.”

“Ian always makes his bed,” Debbie says, frowning and worry starts to build up in all of their guts.

“He came home last night, didn't he?” Fiona asks, putting down the spatula to cross her arms.

“We walked home together and he was fine,” Debbie replies, and she sets Liam down, keeping her hand on his tiny one.

“He's not working today,” Mandy murmurs and she feels uneasiness creep up her spine and the room is suddenly tense and it gets even worse when Debbie says something that leaves Mandy confused.

“What if he went out and he got an attack?” Debbie says, her eyes wide and her face starts to drain of blood, and Lip's eyes immediately flicker to her and Fiona lunges forward, clamping a hand over Debbie's mouth, pulling her into the living room and Lip follows, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and Mandy quietly trails behind them because she wants to know what the hell was going on and what this 'attack' was.

Fiona releases Debbie and hisses, “How do you know about Ian's attacks?”

“He told me last night!” Debbie says, scowling at her two older siblings.

“Well, what else do you know, Debs?” Lip asks and he tries to keep his voice calm but his jaw clench betrays him and Debbie almost looks afraid of him.

“I-I know he's gay,” she stammers, her eyes going back and forth between the two of them and they sigh loudly, shaking their heads, so she hardens her expression, saying, “At least _he_ thinks I'm old enough to know important things.”

“This is not the time, Debbie,” Fiona snaps, giving her a sharp glare then she ushers them all back to the kitchen and she paces back and forth, then finally she says, “Okay, Carl, I want you to go to Kash's and ask if anyone's seen Ian there.” 

She turns to Debbie with a cold look and says, “Debbie, check the hospitals since you know all about what kind of patient to look for.” And Debbie just glowers back at her, rolling her eyes. 

“Lip, back alleys, junkyard, wherever the hell you wouldn't go after dark.” Lip nods, then asks, “The Alibi?”

“I'll call Kev to ask him to keep an eye out,” Fiona replies, then turns to Mandy. “Mandy, talk to the neighbours and just ask around, okay?”

But Mandy has another idea and she says, “I actually have another place in mind. I think Ian could be there.” And the place she means is her own house, because when Debbie said something about Ian being gay, it clicked in her mind that if she was right about Mickey, then Ian could be with him right now.

“Where's that?” Fiona asks, eyebrows raised.

Mandy stutters, “Uh, that's, um, I can't tell you that, but I'm almost positive that he's there so just, please, trust me.”

Fiona blows out through her lips and shrugs, saying, “Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. Just- All of you, go! I'm gonna stick around here in case Ian comes-”

“Hi,” Ian says, the kitchen door slamming behind him and all eyes turn to him, wide and worried.

“ _-home_ ,” Fiona finishes and her jaw slacks, because Ian's face is spotted with bruises, and his nose looks out of place, and his lip is busted.

“Ian!” Mandy is the first to react and she runs over to him, flinging her arms around his neck, but she pulls back immediately when he winces and she realises he's probably not in the best state to be hugged, and she's about to ask him where the hell he went, but then another person walks through the door and her question is answered.

“Mickey?” Fiona speaks up, and she glances between Ian and Mickey, and she sees the bright red tint in Ian's cheeks and the boyish grin on Mickey's face, and suspicion starts to build up in the back of her mind.

“What?” Mickey snaps, looking up to see everyone's attention shifting to him and he doesn't like it, so he says, “Don't you all have school or some shit like that?”

“Right,” Fiona groans, slapping her forehead. Then she finishes packing up their lunches and hands them the brown bags, saying, “Debs, Carl, get out of here.” And they grumble, snatching the bags from Fiona and muttering goodbyes to everyone before disappearing out the door, then Fiona turns to Mandy with a cocked eyebrow, saying, “You too, princess.”

“But-” Mandy tries to object, gesturing to Ian, but Fiona won't have any of it.

“Mandy,” Fiona's tone rises, “School, _now!_ ”

“Fuck!” Mandy shouts, then violently stomps over to the door, but she turns back for a second to flip Lip off when he laughs at her, then she slams the door behind her, leaving just the four of them, and Lip is still laughing, but his laughter is cut short when Fiona looks at him.

“Funny, huh?” she says, sarcasm dripping off her tone. “What's funnier is you missing your train back to school.”

“Fi-”

“You're not missin' anymore classes, Lip,” she scolds, shoving his bag to his chest. “Now, _go_.”

Lip sighs, and its been a long time since he's had to take orders from Fiona but she's so insistent and he knows that deep down, he'll always be the little brother that looks up to her and he knows that he can't say no to her, so he flashes a grin, slinging the bag over his shoulder and he waves a salute at Ian and Mickey, then he's running out the door and Fiona is left staring at Ian and Mickey, who are both looking at their feet, so she clears her throat loudly, making them both lift their heads.

“So,” she starts, her hands placing themselves on her hips. “Which one of you is gonna tell me what the fuck happened?”

Ian looks at Mickey and Mickey looks at Ian, and Ian's eyes are wide and he's pulling the puppy face which makes Mickey's insides melt, and he can't hold Ian's gaze any longer, so he mutters, “ _Fucking hell_ ,” and he breaks their eye contact to shift his attention to Fiona, who's watching them with a careful eye, and Mickey puts on a smug look as he says, “Tough guy here thought he could take on the Carver kids on his own in the middle of the night, but he ended up unconscious in the snow until I found him and took him home.”

“You went to Carver alley? _At night?_ ” Fiona asks, gaping at Ian. “Were you out of your goddamn mind?”

“I- I-” Ian stammers, trying to find a way to answer but Mickey saves him, holding a hand up to say, “Look, it doesn't matter, alright? What matters is that I cleaned up what I could, but you should get Veronica to check him out because I think his nose is broken and the wound on his stomach could get infected.”

“What wound?” Fiona asks, pushing away the fact that for the first time in forever, Mickey actually sounds like he cared about someone other than himself and that someone was Ian.

Ian shuffles awkwardly, then he lifts his sweater to reveal the huge bandage on his stomach, almost clean but there are a few splotches of blood staining it already, and Fiona's expression deepens as Ian pulls away the bandage to expose the deep cut, and its bloody and fleshy, and even after the countless times she's seen injuries like this, she almost gags, but she holds it back and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and when she opens them, she says, “Ian, go take a shower and I'll get V to come help, okay?”

“Okay,” Ian says, then he shoots a glance at Mickey, who in turn gives him a sly smirk, and Ian chuckles lowly under his breath, then he heads upstairs, and Mickey watches him walk up the stairs and his eyes are on Ian's ass, and they both think that they're being subtle, but neither of them realise that Fiona is watching their every move and the more she looks at them, the more she finally gets it. So when Mickey finally snaps his attention back to her, she says, “Took him home, huh? Why?”

Mickey shrugs, saying, “If I dragged him here at two in the morning, all bloodied and bruised, would you believe that it wasn't me who fucked him up?”

“What? Of course I-”

“Honestly, Fiona, would you?” And Mickey was the kind of person you just couldn't lie to, with his perfectly arched eyebrows and scowl to match.

After a few moments of silence, she hesitantly says, “Probably not.”

And Mickey gives her a pointed look, then he says, “Anyway, after I cleaned him up and shit, I tried to talk him into coming home but he's the one who didn't want to. I had to haul his skinny ass out here. Guess he didn't want you to see him like that, so, just, you know, don't be too hard on him about it. He's beating himself up about it enough.”

“Right,” Fiona says, nodding slowly, trying to adjust to this new and improved Mickey, but she can't, so she says, “You should go home, Mickey. You look tired. Get some rest.”

“No, I can stay, in case you need-”

But Fiona cuts him off, waving a hand at him, saying, “I can take care of him. Don't worry about it.”

“Who says I'm fucking worried?” Mickey snaps, and its only because he's scared that Fiona is getting close to the truth, but maybe playing the defensive angle wasn't the best choice, because Fiona smiles a little.

“Just go home, Mick,” she says, shaking her head lightly and reluctantly, he starts moving towards the door, but he pauses before he pulls it open, turning around to say, “Oh, and, uh, Fiona, he said he couldn't fight back because he got an attack. I don't know what kind of fucking attack he was talking about, but I thought you should know.”

“He got an attack?” Fiona repeats, her heart rate rising. “Shit.” Then she runs a hand through her tangled hair before looking over at Mickey with a blank look, saying, “I, uh, I got it. I'll handle it.”

“Right.” Mickey turns to the door, then he glances back, and he asks, “What attack, Fiona?”

Fiona just sighs, shaking her head violently, and she insists, “Its not my place to tell. Just forget it, alright? I'll deal with it.” And Mickey rolls his eyes, yanking the door open and he's about to step out when Fiona calls, “Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey doesn't turn back, but he stops and he replies, “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” is what Fiona says and Mickey just nods, then he's gone.

•

“So, what do two guys do when they spend the night together?”

And Mickey's heart almost jumps out of his throat when he hears Mandy's voice, sneaking up on him again and he makes a mental note to find some way to block off his hideout from intruders, even if they're just bratty little sisters who didn't know how to keep their noses out of other people's business.

“Do they just sleep,” Mandy continues, her voice teasing and Mickey wants to rip out her vocal chords, “or do they, you know, _sleep?_ ”

“Do you wanna know what one guy does to his bitchy little sister?” Mickey says irritably, shooting a cold glare at her.

“No, not really,” she replies, smirking slyly at him. “I just wanna know whether you fucked Ian or not.”

“Jesus Christ, Mandy!” Mickey's voice booms through the empty building and it echoes. “Shut your fucking mouth, would you?”

“Why didn't you just tell me?” Mandy asks, ignoring her brother's hostile attitude.

“Tell you what?” Mickey tries his luck, but he knows it won't work because there's no way in hell that he could ever get out of something like this, because once Mandy has her mind set on something, she makes it happen.

“That you're ga-”

“Don't fucking say it,” he growls, his teeth bared in a grimace.

Mandy rolls her eyes, then says, “I would've settled for ‘Hey Mandy, I like dudes’ but of course, you can't even do that.”

“Hey Mandy, I like you when you're not speaking,” is what Mickey says, his voice mocking and condescending, and it makes Mandy elbow him in the side harshly.

“I'm your sister, Mick,” she grumbles, frowning at him. “We're supposed to tell each other everything.”

“No,” Mickey states, shaking his head at her and pointing at her with his burning cigarette. “That's the kind of bullshit you do with your best friend. Like Ian. Does _he_ tell you everything?”

“Well, not _everything-_ ”

“Obviously not everything,” he sneers, rolling his eyes. “But important things, right?”

“I guess,” Mandy answers, then wonders where he's going with all this so she asks, “If you wanna know whether he likes you, then the answer is-”

“Goddammit, no! That's not what I wanna know!” he cries, groaning at her. “We settled all that last night.”

“Aha!” Mandy squeals, almost leaping on Mickey and a bright grin spreads across her face. “So you _did_ do something last night! Did you kiss him? Did he kiss you? Wait, did you guys actually fu-”

“Mandy, I swear to God, if you don't get a fucking grip-” Mickey stops himself there, jaw clenching and fists balling up. “We're getting off topic. Just- Back to the important things, alright?”

“Fine,” she mumbles, kicking at his feet and in that moment, she reminds him of a little girl who didn't get to pick the tv channel. “What do you wanna know?”

“For starters, I'd like to know about his attacks,” Mickey says, his eyebrows arching high and Mandy immediately snaps her neck to face him, a dark look on her face.

“What do you know about Ian's attacks?” she asks hastily, her voice bumpy and uneven.

“Nothing!” he exclaims, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “If I did, I wouldn't be asking you, would I, smartass? Now, what do you know?”

“That's just it,” she grumbles, her lips twisting into a scowl. “I don't know shit either.”

“I thought you said he told you everything!” Mickey says, giving her a sharp look.

“I said, not everything-” Mandy tries to argue, but Mickey interrupts her.

“Yeah, but I thought that meant the kind of toothpaste he uses or the colour of his underwear-”

“Well, I don't know _that_ ,” she says, her nose scrunching up, then she smirks. “But you would, wouldn't you, Mick?”

“Fuck you, Mandy,” he mutters, flipping her off.

“Look, Ian's never told me about any attacks, but something tells me that if you wanna find out, then it should be from him and not anyone else,” she says, giving him a pointed look.

“Yeah, but he won't-”

“Mickey,” she presses, her gaze hardening and after a few moments, he caves in.

“Yeah, alright, fine, Yoda,” he grumbles, tossing his cigarette aside, then he gets up to leave, dusting off his back, but then he halts for a second when she calls after him.

“So, Mick, did you guys really have sex already?” And he just lifts his finger up without turning back and he keeps walking, muttering profanities under his breath.

_Fucking sisters._

•

“How you feelin', kiddo?” Fiona asks, dropping herself on the couch next to Ian, nudging him in the side to make him move over.

Ian smiles at her, moving to one end of the couch and she pulls his legs into her lap, and he leans back against the armrest. “I'm okay.” Then his smile falters a little and he says, “I'm really sorry, Fiona.”

“For what?” she asks, and she's confused because apart from going off without telling anyone, she doesn't recall him doing anything wrong.

“For getting into that fight,” he mumbles, casting his eyes down and his eyelashes brush his cheeks, and Fiona's never seen anyone look so upset about getting into a fight, so she just laughs a little, her hand finding Ian's.

“Don't apologise now,” she teases, making him look up at her. “At the rate you're going, you'll be getting into plenty of fights, so don't worry about it.”

“Really?” he says, his voice shaky and uncertain.

“You're a Gallagher,” she replies, squeezing his hand. “Its what Gallaghers do. We fight and we fight hard and maybe we end up bleeding and bruising all over, but a fight is a fight and its about time you got into one.”

So Ian laughs, and he says, “Thanks, Fiona.” And he means it because through everything he's been through here, all the good and the bad, Fiona's the one person who has kept him grounded and sane and she's the parent he never had, but at the same time she's a big sister and he couldn't have asked for anyone better, and every day that he's here with them, he's just more and more amazed by what she can do and he hopes that one day he could be half the person that she is and he hopes that she knows that.

“So,” Fiona pats his legs, “I have a question.”

“Shoot,” Ian says, grinning at her.

“Why'd you call Mickey?” she asks hesitantly, and she notices his eyes widen for a second before they return to normal, and he chews on his bottom lip for a while before he answers.

“I.... don't know, actually,” is what he says, but he's lying. Of course he knows. But Fiona can't know that he's falling for Mickey, so he just shrugs, saying, “He found me there the other day so I just figured that he'd know where to look, you know?”

“Right,” she replies, nodding, but she doesn't believe a word he says. She saw the way they acted around each other earlier and she's been through enough morning-after's to know that there was a 99.9% chance that they slept together last night and it was more of a surprise that Ian went for Mickey than it was a surprise to find out that Mickey was gay. She sort of knew about Mickey anyway. I mean, when the guy is practically your own blood, you can tell and she wonders whether Ian could tell from the start or if he just decided to try his luck, but either way, he did get lucky because if anyone could melt Mickey's heart of steel, it would be Ian so instead of calling him out on his lie, she just smiles at him, but then thinking about Mickey makes something resurface in her mind, something Mickey had mentioned earlier, about... about... _God_ , what was it about?

“I had another attack,” Ian says suddenly, and _there! That's what it was about_ , Fiona thinks to herself, and she frowns at him.

“Yeah, Mickey told me,” she says, eyebrows raised. “But he said you wouldn't tell him what kind of attack.”

Ian scratches the back of his neck and he slowly says, “I troubled him enough for one night. He didn't need that dumped on him too.”

“Its not a burden, Ian,” she says, looking at him with a sad gaze. “You know, in all of the years that I've known Mickey, this is the first time I've seen him take care of anyone other than himself.”

And Ian's spirits are immediately lifted, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face, saying, “Really?”

“ _Really_ ,” Fiona replies, her smile growing and Jesus, she doesn't think she's ever seen Ian so happy before and this was Ian, the boy who could never stop smiling, and she's happy that he's happy, and she's even happier that the person making him happy is none other than Mickey Milkovich. So she says, “Get over here!” And she pulls him into a hug, tight enough for him to know that this is her way of showing her affection, but loose enough not to hurt him or make contact with his wound, then when they pull away, Fiona catches a glimpse of a red mark on Ian's neck and her eyes widen a little, and she glances at it again and she has to bite back a giggle when she realises its a hickey, and she gives him a goofy smile, saying, “Oh, wow. Mickey _really_ took care of you, huh?”

And Ian gives her a furrowed look, but he notices her eyes lingering on his neck and he remembers that the hickey is practically on display, so he not-so-subtly rubs his neck, attempting to cover it up but he knows it doesn't work, because Fiona just bursts out into laughter, saying, “Jesus, Ian, seriously? _Mickey?_ ”

Ian's cheeks burn as he nudges her with his toes and he mumbles, “Shut up. He's hot.” And Fiona almost squeals, but she holds it back and she waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively, asking, “Hot enough to sleep with?”

Then Ian groans, burying his face in his hands as he whines into his palms, “Oh my God, Fiona!” And she just coos at him, giggling nonstop and he won't lift his head, but a big smile is carving itself on his face and he can't stop it.

_Fucking sisters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 10
> 
> So, this was just a filler chapter, I guess, but it was necessary and the next chapter is packed with drama so bear with me! Leave me a comment ;)


	11. Do you trust me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey convinces Ian to get revenge on the Carvers while getting his own revenge too, but it all goes wrong and someone's in trouble.

Its been a week since the fight and Ian's back at work, and the tension between him and Kash is even worse, what with Kash glancing over at him every five seconds or so, and he's sure its because the bruises haven't fully faded and he still winces every now and then when he stretches the wrong way and strains his wound, and he just wishes he could gouge Kash's eyes out just to make him stop looking at him, and God, he's been spending way too much time with Mickey because the old Ian would never even think of anything as violent as gouging out anybody's eyes, and the thought of that makes him laugh a little to himself, and Kash notices, asking, “Something funny?”

“W-what? No,” Ian stammers, and his small grin fades immediately.

“You have a nice smile, you know?” Kash says, moving closer to Ian and Ian finds himself backing up against the counter, but he has nowhere else to move.

“Thanks?” Ian blurts out, gulping loudly and his heartbeat starts to rise.

“You shouldn't stop smiling,” Kash continues, and there's a wild look in his eyes that makes goosebumps rise on Ian's arms and the feeling makes his skin crawl. 

Ian can feel the tension building up inside him and fear creeps up his spine, making him shudder. He wants to say something, but he can't move his lips, like his body isn't responding to the endless signals his brain is sending which are telling him to get the fuck out, right now. Kash is directly in front of him now and Ian wants to look away, but he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the rabid-looking man and he feels tears start pricking his eyes and he starts hiccuping for air, and Kash's advancement towards him doesn't help, and there's a burning in his chest and all he wants is to breathe, but Kash closes the gap between them and forces his lips onto Ian, and Ian can't bring himself to do anything except stand there and let himself be kissed by this man who knows no shame and he feels bile rise up in his throat and his legs are about to give way, but he hears a familiar jingling like the bell at the door and he's not sure what exactly happened next because it was all just a fast blur, but the next thing he knows is Kash is on the ground, cradling his face and there's a firm hand on Ian's arm, keeping him upright and he hears Mickey's voice say, “If you ever lay a fucking finger on him again, you won't have any fucking fingers left. You hear me?”

Kash just grunts, pulling himself up and he just stares at Ian, whose face is red and his breathing is uneven. Ian slowly pulls off the green apron he's wearing and Kash immediately says, “You're not fired, Ian.”

And Ian just gives him a cold look, then he slams the apron down on the counter, saying, “Well, then I quit.” Then he turns to leave, but he stops, and spins back for a second to say, “Go fuck yourself, Kash.” Then he storms out of the store and Mickey gives the finger to Kash with a smug grin before chasing after Ian, laughing gleefully.

“' _Go fuck yourself, Kash_ ',” Mickey repeats, snickering a little. “Attaboy, ginger. Keep the attitude, its good for you.”

Ian just sighs, shrugging his shoulders lightly and Mickey frowns, nudging his head. “Ey, what's up with you, man?”

“Nothing,” Ian mutters, kicking at a large stone and it flies across the street, barely missing the hood of a car.

“Bullshit, Ian,” Mickey says, halting in front of Ian to make him stop walking. Mickey has a scowl on his face because he hates it when people lie to him, but one look at Ian's face and he just cracks, worry etched into his features. “Come on, what's going on?”

Ian sighs, knowing that he couldn't wiggle himself out of this now, and he says, “Its just... I'm useless. I can't take care of myself. I can't win a fight against a bunch of jerks and if you didn't show up then, I probably wouldn't have been able to stop Kash even if he tried to rape me or something. I mean, you're not gonna be there to save my ass all the damn time and I just-”

“Hey,” Mickey says, putting a hand on Ian's chin, forcing Ian to look at him. “Maybe I can't save you from everything, but I can try, and I swear to God, Ian, if there's anyone worth saving, its you.”

And Ian smiles, because Mickey had made him feel important, wanted, needed. And Mickey did think Ian was all that, if not more, and all he wants is for Ian to know that he can be trusted, so he hesitantly asks, “So, why didn't you do anything? I mean, why'd you just let him kiss you like that?”

Then Ian looks at Mickey and he only finds sincerity in Mickey's eyes so he doesn't even think twice before saying, “I _couldn't_ do anything. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe. That's what happens when I get a panic attack.”

Attack is the only word that registers in Mickey's brain and his face scrunches up as he processes what Ian just said. “Panic attack...? Like a _real_ panic attack?”

“No, Mickey, I fake getting panic attacks for the hell of it,” Ian snaps, his eyes narrowing then Mickey frowns, and Ian suddenly feels guilt settle in a pit in his stomach, and he sighs, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get angry. Its just- This thing, its not something I like talking about, but I figured you should know. I have anxiety, a panic disorder which makes me get panic attacks whenever I freak out or whenever I'm suddenly shocked. That's why I can never handle these kind of situations. Its too much for me.”

Mickey is quiet for a while, then he starts walking, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket and Ian trails by his side, and he runs a hand through his hair before he says, “Look, I know how to deal with drunks and addicts and all kinds of weird shit, but I've never known anyone who has a panic disorder and I'm sorry, but-”

“But you can't be around a freak like me,” Ian interrupts, laughing emptily, cold breath leaving his lips. “I thought so.”

“Let me fucking finish, would you?” Mickey snaps, shooting a sharp glare at Ian. “I'm sorry, but I can't cure you, but I can help you control it.”

“What do you mean?” Ian asks quietly, and guilt consumes him, slowly swallowing him up.

“Panic attacks, asthma attacks, all these fucking attacks,” Mickey says, waving his hands around. “They can be controlled, if you know how.”

“Yeah, with drugs,” Ian mutters, scoffing.

“No, I mean, something that can calm you down, something for you to hold on to,” Mickey says, giving Ian a hard look. “Like- like an anchor or something. Something that can always pull you back down. Do you have anything like that?”

Ian doesn't say anything for a while, but when he does, Mickey almost trips over his own feet because what Ian says is, “ _You._ ”

“What?” Mickey splutters, trying not to look so gobsmacked.

“You,” Ian repeats, nodding his head. “You're my anchor. Whenever you're around, the attacks stop.” And he's not lying. Mickey was like oxygen when he couldn't breathe, like a voice when he couldn't speak, like a shield when he couldn't move. Mickey was a drug that he needed to keep living and its come to a point where he doesn't know if he could survive without Mickey.

“Really?” Mickey asks, and he's too scared to look at Ian because he knows his cheeks are bright pink.

“Yeah,” Ian says, and he finally smiles, laughing a little at the fact that Mickey looked embarrassed.

Mickey clears his throat, straightening up and he puts on a tough look, turning to Ian. “Well, then, you've got your anchor. Now, you just need to learn how to use it when you're in trouble, and what better way to practice than to get revenge on those no good, pieces of shit Carvers?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ian says, putting a hand on Mickey's chest to stop him and Mickey glances down at Ian's large hand, a sly smirk on his dashing face. Ian rolls his eyes, asking, “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“That depends,” Mickey replies, shrugging, pressing his chest against Ian's hand.

“On what?” Ian asks, not realising that Mickey had started walking again, steering Ian into a back alley.

“On what you I think I'm saying,” Mickey answers, his eyebrows quirked up.

“You wanna pick a fight with the Carvers?” Ian says, licking his lips nervously.

“Then, yes, I am saying what you think I'm saying,” Mickey says, grinning brightly.

Then Ian immediately shakes his head, saying, “No, no, no, you can't. Don't- No, you can't do that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Mickey asks, grimacing at Ian.

“Well-” Ian stammers, trying to come up with something to say and in the end, all he can think of is, “There's, like, six of them and one of you.”

“Well, what the hell are you here for then, dumbass?” Mickey sneers, rolling his eyes at Ian who was just so clueless sometimes.

Ian sighs, still shaking his head. “Come on, Mick, you don't have to do this.”

“Maybe I don't have to,” Mickey says, a smug look on his face. “But I want to. They deserve it for all the shit they've done to you and Jesus, don't _you_ want to?”

“I do! Trust me, I do,” Ian groans, pressing his face into his hands. “But I don't think that fighting is gonna get us anywhere. Its just- Maybe they're willing to just forget it if we lay low, you know? ”

“Jesus Christ, Ian!” Mickey exclaims, laughing slightly. “There's no such thing as laying low in Southside, alright? The sooner you get that, the better.”

“Okay,” Ian sighs, his puppy face starting to appear and he still won't cave in. “But maybe we could talk it out? I mean, it worked that time the cops were looking for you and-”

“You know,” Mickey says, his voice switching to a teasing tone. “This goodie little boy scout act is actually turning me on. I might just take you right here, right now.”

Ian looks at Mickey with wide eyes, and once he sees Mickey's smirk, he grabs the collar of Mickey's shirt and shoves him against the wall of the alley, making Mickey gasp a little and he matches Mickey's smug look, saying, “Oh, yeah? So, why don't you?”

And Mickey won't admit it, but the tough guy Ian turns him on even more and even though the brick wall is digging into his back, he just grins stupidly at Ian and if he didn't get himself together, he'd probably end up with pink hearts circling around his head. So, he takes a deep breath and pushes Ian off, then slams him against the opposite wall, his hands placed on either side of Ian's head. And he says, “Because,” then he pauses, giving Ian a hungry kiss, pulling away before Ian could fully react to it. “We've got some Carver ass to kick.”

“Mickey,” Ian whines, not sure whether he's more upset that the kiss was so short or that Mickey was still insistent on getting into a fight.

But Mickey's already far ahead of him, laughing at Ian who has to jog to catch up with him and he watches as Ian's shirt rides up a little as he runs and he catches a glimpse of Ian's pale skin and the pink scar from the wound and it looks like its healing, so he says, “You look good now.” Then Ian stares back at him with a blank look so he adds quickly, “N-not that you didn't look good before. Its just- The bruises and the scar, they're healing and you look- I don't know, _better?_ Is that okay? Better? Fuck, I can't do this. You- Good, yeah.”

Smooth, Mickey. _Real fucking smooth._

__Then Ian laughs at him, finding the thought of Mickey stumbling over his own words just to get a compliment out insanely hilarious and Mickey just scowls, hitting Ian's chest lightly, “Oh, is that funny to you?” And that makes Ian laugh even harder, which in turn makes Mickey start laughing because there wasn't a laugh in the world more contagious than Ian Gallagher's and God, it felt good to be the reason for that laughter, but then Ian suddenly silences himself, his hand instinctively reaching up to Mickey's arm, pulling him back and Mickey glances at him, and Ian is looking straight ahead with wide eyes, saying, “There they are.” And Mickey follows his gaze to see the Carver boys lazing around the alley, smoking, drinking and his eyes lock on Alex Carver, the devil's spawn and he growls a little under his breath, but Ian hears it and he turns his head to Mickey, saying, “Mick, we don't have to do this, you know.”_ _

__“Yes, we do,” Mickey replies, then he takes a deep breath, facing Ian and he puts on a warm look. “You're going in first.”_ _

__“Wait, what?” Ian splutters, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. “Like- like, _alone?_ ”_ _

__“Well, yeah,” Mickey nods, shrugging his shoulders. “If we both go in there at the same time, we don't have the element of surprise. I mean, we need to strategise. If we're gonna win this, we're gonna need the upper hand, Ian.”_ _

__And Ian just stares back at Mickey, who sounds like he's speaking in another language, and he just shakes his head, muttering, “No, no. I can't do this. If they see me, they're gonna kill me and-”_ _

__“Hey,” Mickey says, catching Ian's head in his hands, his thumbs massaging Ian's pink cheeks. “Do you trust me?”_ _

__Ian blinks wildly, mumbling, “What does that-”_ _

__But Mickey tightens his grip on Ian's head, forcing Ian to stare him straight in the eyes and he says, “Answer the fucking question, Ian. _Do you trust me?_ ”_ _

__Ian nods, saying, “More than anyone.”_ _

__“Good,” Mickey says, smiling. “So, you're gonna walk in there and you're gonna let them see you and nobody is gonna fucking touch you. I promise you that. Okay?”_ _

__And Ian says, “Okay.” But he doesn't know why, because it means that he just agreed to the stupidest idea in the entire history of stupid ideas, but that was just the thing about Mickey, he made stupid ideas seem like the right thing to do even if they were wrong and he made you want to be bad, and Ian doesn't know why he would want to be around someone who made him feel these kind of things, but he does and he wouldn't have it any other way. So, he starts walking, straight into the alley and at first, they don't notice him, too caught up in their drugs and their alcohol to realise that he had walked into their territory yet again, and for a second, he considers just turning back and running away and he could forget this ever happened, but as he turns his head, he catches a glimpse at Mickey's hopeful face and he can't bring himself to disappoint Mickey, so he looks back at the boys, and he clears his throat loudly, making all six heads turn to him._ _

__“You just can't fucking get enough, can you, Gallagher?” Travis drawls in a heavy tone, tossing aside a bottle of liquor and immediately starts advancing on Ian, but a hand pulls him back, forcing him to stop._ _

__“Just get out of here, kid,” Alex says with his hand on Travis' shoulder, looking at Ian with disappointment. “We don't want any trouble, so just walk away, alright?”_ _

__“You know a lot about that, don't you, Alex?” a voice says from behind Ian and a cold rush of relief washes over him as he feels Mickey's presence beside him. “Walking away?”_ _

__“For fuck's sake, Mickey,” Alex sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “Just- Don't, okay? I'll take my boys and we'll go.”_ _

__Mickey feels a stab in his chest at the sound of Alex saying ‘my boys’ and he just laughs emptily. “I gave _your boys_ the chance to stay away, but they didn't seem to get the message because they went and fucked up Ian over here, and I'm pretty fucking sure you were there too.”_ _

__“I was,” Alex says sheepishly, shooting a glance at Ian before casting his gaze down to his shoes. “And I'm sorry.”_ _

__“Well, at least you admitted to something,” Mickey sneers, baring his teeth at Alex and he clicks his tongue. “Unfortunately, I don't give a shit about you clearing your conscience, so Alex? Shove your sorry up your fucking ass.”_ _

__Then Mickey slams his fist into Alex's gut, making him double over, pulling Travis down with him and Ian takes that opportunity to jam his foot into Travis' stomach, making Travis groan loudly. Mickey bashes Alex's face in with his knuckles until there's blood on his hands and Alex's face is almost unrecognisable. Ian swings his foot at Travis' face harshly, probably knocking out a few teeth. Luke comes running at Ian, but Ian ducks and Mickey swings his fist into Luke's face, a loud crack echoing in the alley and Luke falls to the ground, yelling, “Fuck!” Then Ian just laughs, kicking him in the groin and he whimpers, trying to get up but Ian slams him back down with a punch to the gut. The other three boys start to make a run for it, but Mickey shouts, “Ey! Take one more fucking step and you'll end up even worse than you would here.” Then they freeze and Mickey walks up to the middle one, who gasps loudly when Mickey grabs the collar of his shirt, dragging him back to the alley and throws him onto the ground, kicking him in the knees to make him fall then Mickey clocks him in the face, blood spilling out of his mouth and Mickey looks back at the other two, who looked scared shitless and he says, “Ian?” Then Ian just nods, stalking over to one of the guys, grabbing his shoulders and Ian brings his knee up to the guy's stomach, then shoves his elbow into the crook of the guy's neck, making him collapse to the ground and Mickey just watches Ian with wide eyes, a small grin on his face and he snickers as he wrestles with the other guy, throwing punches and kicks whenever he can and he finally hits the right spot and the guy yelps, rolling away from Mickey while clutching his stomach. Then Mickey gets up and he sees Travis slowly pulling himself up so he mutters, “ _Fuck no._ ” And Mickey strides over to him and gives him a quick hit in the face and Travis drops back to the ground, then Mickey turns to Alex with a smug grin, bending down to give him one last hit, and he whispers, “You know, we used to be your boys too, Alex.” But then his grin fades when he hears, “Mickey Milkovich, stop right there!”_ _

__“Oh, shit!” Mickey shouts, hearing the sirens and his eyes catch a glimpse of blue and red lights, so he jumps up, glancing at Ian, whose hands are bloody and his face is pale. “Ian, you need to get out of here, alright?”_ _

__But Ian doesn't respond. He just stares at Mickey with big puppy eyes and Mickey walks over to him, grabbing his arms and shaking him. “Hey, Ian, come on! Listen to me, okay, you need to go. They haven't seen you, you can still make a run for it.”_ _

__“No,” Ian says, shaking his head wildly. “I'm not gonna leave you here. I did this too. I won't-”_ _

__“I am not letting you go down with me, you hear me?” Mickey says, jabbing a finger at Ian's chest. “I'll handle this! Just get the fuck out of here while you can.”_ _

__“But Mick-”_ _

__“Ian!” Mickey cries, grabbing Ian's face tightly. “Just fucking run! _Now!_ ”_ _

__And Ian takes a deep breath before pushing Mickey off and he starts running back the way they came, but then he halts, turning back to Mickey and Mickey yells, “The fuck you doing, man? Just fucking go!” And Ian starts walking back to him with long strides, and Mickey sighs, running a hand through his hair, saying, “Oh, sweet Jesus, please don't tell me you're gonna give me a fucking dramatic kiss because that's fucking bull-” But he doesn't get to finish because Ian's lips are on his and he doesn't care if its bullshit because goddamn, Ian's lips were the best thing he'd ever tasted in his life and he doesn't want Ian to stop, but the sirens are getting closer, so he shoves Ian off, shaking his head and he says, “Ian, please, go!”_ _

__So Ian does and Mickey watches as Ian runs away from him, his figure getting smaller and smaller until he's nothing but a dot in distance and Mickey has to restrain himself from chasing after him like a little bitch and he doesn't even realise that the police have found him until they're snapping handcuffs onto his wrists and shoving him into the back of the police car and he's on his way to the police station and he's probably gonna end up in jail again but all he can think about is Ian fucking Gallagher._ _

__•_ _

__“FIONA!” Ian yells, pushing the door open and his breathing is ragged, his heart thumping after running his legs off to escape the police. “Fiona, where are you? Fi!”_ _

__“Jesus, Ian,” Fiona says, trudging down the stairs, half asleep. “You trying to wake the whole neighbourhood or something?”_ _

__“Fiona, I- I-” Ian starts, but he can't form a proper sentence, his head shaking violently and his hands tremble – from the cold or the adrenaline, he's not too sure._ _

__“Ian, hey, calm down,” Fiona says, walking over to him and she grabs his hands, only to feel sticky, warm liquid and she looks down to see dark red blood on her hands, and she glances up at Ian with shock as she asks, “What the hell happened?”_ _

__“We were just- We didn't mean to,” Ian blurts out, guilt building up in his conscience. “He got this crazy idea and I- I helped him. And- and- he told me- Oh, God.”_ _

__“Who?” Fiona asks, staring him straight in the eyes, but Ian won't answer so she grips his shoulders tightly, repeating herself, “ _Who_ , Ian?”_ _

__“Mickey!” Ian yells, tears starting to prick his eyes and his legs start to give way, the adrenaline draining out of his body. “We got into a fight with the Carvers and we got a little out of hand, then the cops showed up and he-”_ _

__“He what? What did he do?” Fiona asks, her hands becoming the only things keeping Ian's body upright._ _

__“He told me to run,” Ian answers, his voice quivering. “And I did. I ran away. I left him there, Fiona. _I fucking left him._ ” Then Ian breaks down into sobs, collapsing against Fiona's body and she holds him tightly, rubbing his back to soothe him and she wonders how Ian could ever get so caught up with shit like this and she doesn't know what else to think except Mickey fucking Milkovich._ _

__•_ _

__Ian gasps as he shoots up from bed, his heart pounding in his chest as his head is flooded with the events of last night and it ends with him running away from Mickey and he balls up his blanket in his fist to avoid breaking anything and he has to take several deep breaths before getting up, going straight to the shower and he undresses himself, and the reflection looking back at him in the mirror is almost unrecognisable. His hair is longer than it ever was for the past ten years, his chest and arm muscles are more defined than they ever were back in military school, his lips are more chapped from all the cigarettes than they ever were since he started smoking, his skin is more black and blue than it is white and all he can remember of the old Ian are his eyes. The same, green eyes that seemed to get him whatever the fuck he wanted, whenever he wanted it, and right now, all he wanted was Mickey. So he gets in the shower and he washes off the dirt and sweat and blood from last night and he tries not to vomit at the putrid stench that comes off his body and he has to scrub himself three times before he feels like he's even half-cleansed and he figures that's as clean as he'll ever get, so he goes and gets dressed then he jogs down the stairs, and he's seemingly calm, that is until he gets to the kitchen where Fiona and Mandy are sitting together at the table, twiddling their thumbs idly until Ian says, “Is he okay?” Then they both look at him, pity written all over their faces and his shoulders slump, and he mumbles, “He's not okay, is he?”_ _

__“He's been arrested for several counts of assault,” Fiona says slowly, breathing heavily._ _

__“But its Mickey,” Ian says in disbelief, shaking his head. “He beats people up all the time, right? What's the big deal?”_ _

__“The big deal is two of those people are in the ICU,” Mandy says, sighing while rubbing her temples. “And lucky for him, its mostly because they were using and not because of the fight, or he would've been charged for attempted murder too.”_ _

__“Shit,” Ian mutters, pressing his hands to his face. “Who are they? The ones in the ICU?”_ _

__“Travis and... _Alex_ ,” Fiona says, frowning at the mention of Alex. _ _

__“Oh, God,” Ian says, dropping his head into his hands and he continues speaking but his words are mumbled, so Fiona pulls his hands away from his face and his cheeks are bright red, his eyes glassy. “Mickey didn't touch Travis. I mean, he did give Travis a little punch, but- but it was mostly me. This is my fault too. I have to go tell the police-”_ _

__“ _No!_ ” Fiona and Mandy shout at the same time, then Fiona grabs Ian shoulders, hoping to shake some sense into him and she says, “Don't ever do that, you hear me?”_ _

__“Why not?” Ian asks and they both look at him like he's the biggest idiot in the entire world._ _

__“Mickey's been in and out of prison practically his entire life. He can handle himself, okay?” Mandy says, putting a hand on Ian's warm face. “But you? You won't make it in there and that's a good thing.”_ _

__Ian frowns at that, but he still won't give up. “I'm supposed to just let him go down for a crime that _I_ committed?”_ _

__“Yes,” Fiona says, nodding at him. “Because if the roles were reversed, you'd do the same for him, wouldn't you?”_ _

__“Of course,” Ian murmurs, looking down and he wants to say ‘ _I'd do it a million times_ ’ but he doesn't because what Fiona says next leaves him stumped._ _

__“And if it were you sitting with the police, would you really want Mickey to just hand himself over?”_ _

__“No,” Ian mumbles, then he sighs, dropping himself into a chair and he buries his face into his hands, then he hears the door open and he's hoping that its Mickey, but its just Lip, and he doesn't help with Ian's disappointment when he says, “Mick's in jail, huh?”_ _

__“Not yet,” Fiona answers, shrugging. “He's still at the station, but they're moving him later today.”_ _

__“Huh,” is all Lip says, like he's not at all surprised and why would he be? It was Mickey, after all. Then, he asks, “So, what'd he do?”_ _

__“Got into a fight,” Mandy replies in a tired tone, like she's sick of hearing it and Lip's about to laugh, but then she quickly adds, “With the Carvers.”_ _

__Then Lip's grin fades and he says, “Oh.” Then he slowly asks, “So, how- how is he?”_ _

__“What, Mickey?” Mandy says, her eyebrows furrowed together. “He's pissed, but he's okay.”_ _

__“No, not Mickey,” Lip grumbles, then turns to Fiona, licking his lips. “ _Him_. Alex.”_ _

__“Alex, right,” Fiona says, her voice shaky and she lets out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “He's, uh, not too good.”_ _

__“Like, what? He's hurt?” Lip asks, scoffing lightly._ _

__Fiona rolls her lips in, then after a few moments of silence, she finally says, “He's in the ICU, Lip.”_ _

__“ICU?” Lip repeats, the tone of his voice going up a notch. “What the fuck did Mickey do to him? Did he- did he try to kill him or something? _What_ , Fi?”_ _

__“I don't know, okay!” Fiona snaps, waving her hands at him then she rubs the side of her face, breathing deeply. “I don't know, but whatever it was, it put him in a really bad state and that's not a good thing – for either of them.”_ _

__“Jesus, Mickey,” Lip mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Way to fuck things up while I'm gone.”_ _

__“But can you blame him?” Mandy says quietly, making Lip look at her. “I'd put him in the hospital too if he did what he did to me.”_ _

__“I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it,” Lip says, shaking his head. “He fucking does, but now, look where its gotten Mickey. I just- I don't know.”_ _

__“So, what happens now?” Ian asks suddenly, and he'd been so quiet that they'd forgotten he was there._ _

__“Mickey goes to jail and we wait for him to come home,” Fiona answers, putting a hand on Ian's shoulder and squeezing it._ _

__“That's it?” Ian says, looking at Fiona, then at Lip, then at Mandy and all three of them give him the same blank look and they all say, “ _That's it._ ”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 11
> 
> What are your theories about Alex Carver and his relation to Mickey/Lip? Let me hear them! I hope you liked this chapter and that it'll help get your minds off that awful spoiler about season 5 :/ anyway, thanks for reading! :)


	12. What the fuck, Alex?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is stuck in jail and he recalls the story of the first time he ended up prison and how he got there.

“Okay, Mickey, I'm only gonna say this once,” Tony says, setting his hands down on the metal table and Mickey looks up at him lazily, the handcuffs digging into his skin. “You tell me what I need to know and we'll go easy on you.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Mickey asks, pulling a face of confusion, tilting his head a little to the right.

“Tell me what I need to know and we'll go easy on you,” Tony repeats slowly, then Mickey's eyebrows quirk up, a smug grin on his face.

“I thought you were only saying that once,” he sniggers obnoxiously, making Tony mutter, “Oh my God.” Then, “Just answer the questions, alright, kid?”

“Anything you need, officer,” Mickey says, a stupid smile stretching on his face, because he's been in interrogation rooms like this more times than he can count and he knows his way around the police more than anyone else, so he doesn't even worry about the kind of questions they're gonna throw at him, that is until Tony actually asks him something and for the first time, he has to actually think of what to say before answering.

“Who was the other guy, Mickey?” is the question that leaves Tony's lips and Mickey's sure that there was panic written all over his face, but he quickly recovers, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“What other guy?” Mickey shoots back, a blank look on his face.

“Your accomplice?” Tony says in a ‘duh’ tone.

“My accomplice?” Mickey laughs loudly, his eyebrows shooting up and he runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “I don't have a fucking accomplice. I don't need one.”

“Oh, come on, Mickey, don't play dumb,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “We saw him, he was beating the crap out of Travis Carver.”

“Travis?” Mickey continues laughing, but its hollow and cynical. “Nah, man, you must've seen wrong. That was one of them Carver boys.”

“What, hitting his own brother?” Tony cocks an eyebrow at him, eyes narrowed and his arms cross over his chest.

“Ey, family's fucked up, man,” Mickey says, lifting a shoulder nonchalantly.

Tony sighs, then he says, “Well, maybe we saw wrong, but witnesses didn't.”

“Witnesses? What witnesses?” Mickey's eyes narrow into slits and his lips twist into a scowl.

“They saw a boy fleeing from the crime scene, right before we showed up,” Tony answers, a deadpanned look on his face. “Described him as redheaded with freckles.”

Then Mickey snorts, covering up the fact that his heart was hammering from the thought of Ian getting involved in this, and he just shrugs, saying, “Do I look like I know any carrot tops? Fuckin' alien looking motherfuckers.”

“What about that guy?” Tony asks, giving Mickey a suggestive look, but Mickey doesn't take the hint.

“Right, _that guy!_ ” Mickey exclaims, clicking his fingers and he over-exaggeratedly nods. “Because there's only one guy in this whole fuckin' world, right?”

Tony rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to choke Mickey and he says, “No, I mean, that guy, _Ian_.”

“Who the fuck's Ian?” Mickey asks, giving Tony a sharp look and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something that could get Ian in trouble.

“Fiona's brother?” Tony says slowly, like he doesn't believe that Mickey wouldn't know Ian.

“Oh, _Gallagher?_ ” Mickey says, trying to sound like he doesn't give a shit about Ian. “You're kidding me, right? You think that kid could throw a punch?”

“He seemed pretty damn brave when he got your ass out of a one-way ticket to prison,” Tony scoffs, giving Mickey a skeptic look.

“He's good with words, sure,” Mickey shrugs, his jaw slacking. “The guy talks a lot of fucking smack, but he can't fight.”

“You sure about that?” Tony asks, hoping that if he pressed Mickey hard enough, he would break, but he's learned from experience that Mickey Milkovich was more than a tough cookie and he proves it once again when he gives Tony a cold glare.

“Yes, I'm fucking sure,” Mickey snaps, a deep scowl on his face. “I was alone against six of those Carver scums, so maybe, they're the ones you wanna throw in jail.”

“Ironically,” Tony chimes, his jaw set. “They're the ones in the hospital.”

“Yeah, well,” is all Mickey says and he doesn't even sound sorry, and Tony is still giving him a hard look so he puts on a stupid smirk and he says, “That Gallagher kid, uh, Ian, was it? Whatever the fuck his name is, I heard he's, like, strawberry blonde or some shit. Not a ginger, so, you know, if you still think I had a fucking accomplice, look somewhere else.”

“So, what, he's just some kid to you?” Tony asks, rubbing the back of his neck and Mickey gives him a blank look in return.

“Just my best friend's brother,” Mickey says, lying through his teeth and he hopes for Ian's sake that he pulled it off. “ _That's all he is_.”

•

“ _That's all he is.”_

The words echo in Mickey's head and he wonders why they sound so familiar and why they brought such pain to his chest, then his mind travels a few years back and he remembers.

\--

_Mickey's sitting in yet another interrogation room, except this time, Lip is beside him, almost chewing off his entire bottom lip as nerves slowly consume him and neither of them could be more than 15 years old at the time, then Mickey hears a police officer's voice address another voice, which was more than familiar to him and his ears perk up immediately, and he looks up to see Officer Tony Markovich standing opposite a dark haired boy behind the glass window and Mickey has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming ‘Alex!’_

_“So, you say you were home last night?” Tony asks Alex, a pen spinning between his fingers._

_“Yes,” Alex answers, his voice steady and smooth, then he glances at Mickey and Lip for a split-second but Tony doesn't notice, so Alex continues, “My parents were both working that night, so I had to stay home to watch my little brothers.”_

_“And you were there all night?” Tony asks, his eyes sharp and wide._

_Alex nods, a small smile on his face. “I love those kids, but five boys are a pain to take care of, and by the time I got them all to bed, I was exhausted and when I woke up, you were at the door.”_

_Mickey can't believe what he's hearing, and he hisses, “Alex, what the fuck are you doing?” And Lip glares at Mickey, telling him to just be quiet, but Mickey doesn't understand why Alex would lie, then he manages to kick the table, making both Tony and Alex turn to them and Alex has a look on his face that was a mixture of anger and panic, and its a look that Mickey's never seen on Alex and it scares him._

_“What about these two boys?” Tony asks, pointing at Mickey and Lip. “Do you know them?”_

_Alex rubs the back of his neck, then he says, “I might, yeah. I mean, they do look familiar... Oh! School!” Alex snaps his fingers, his expression so fake that Mickey wonders how Tony can't see right through it. “That's it, I've seen them at school.”_

_“He's ly-,” Mickey tries to shout, but Lip elbows him harshly, hissing, “Mickey, stop it!” And Mickey gives Lip a look of disbelief, saying, “Lip! He's lying to save his own ass and you know it.”_

_But Lip just shakes his head, refusing to believe that Alex would do something like that, so he says, “No, no. Alex knows what he's doing. Just- just leave him alone, alright?”_

_“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Mickey groans, then slams his heel against the leg of the table again, shouting, “Alex!”_

_Tony glances between Mickey and Alex, and Mickey's face is full of anger, while Alex's face is pure confusion, like he doesn't understand what's going on._

_“I'm sorry,” Alex says, playing dumb. “I didn't know that he knew me.”_

_“Oh, you fucking prick,” Mickey says, laughing emptily and Lip just sighs, muttering profanities under his breath._

_“So, you don't know him?” Tony says, pointing at Mickey and Alex shakes his head. “He's just some kid from school to you?”_

_“Yeah,” Alex replies, his eyes on Mickey and there's no sense of remorse in his voice. “_ _That's all he is.”_

_Then Mickey feels his whole body slump against the metal chair and there's a sharp pain in his chest and he watches as Alex shakes Tony's hand and Tony says, “Thanks, Alex. We'll be in touch.” Alex nods, then Tony heads out the door, and Alex turns to the glass and his face falls at the sight of the two boys, handcuffed to metal chairs and he just sighs, saying, “I'm sorry.”_

_“Save your fucking sorry and get us out of here, you asshole!” Mickey cries, trying to free himself from the restraints, but he can't and Lip whispers, “Mick, just- Stop, okay? That's enough.” Then Lip looks up at Alex, sighing, but he says, “Its okay, Alex.”_

_And Alex's eyes focus on Lip, and his lips curl into a sad smile and he says, “I'm really sorry, Lip.”_

_Then he's gone and Mickey's left staring at an empty wall, his mouth wide open and his breathing is heavy, and Lip quietly says, “Mick, he- he meant both of us.”_

_But Mickey just scoffs, shaking his head, “No, Lip, he meant you. Always you.” Then he just turns away and shuts his mouth, because there was no doubting it now, they were both going down for a crime they didn't commit, all because of Alex Carver._

•

“Milkovich! Visitor!”

Mickey sighs, sliding out of the bunk and he lets himself be escorted to the visitor's room, hoping that it was Lip or Mandy, but when he gets there, the person he sees through the window is Ian and he stops, his body freezing and Ian has a beaming look on his face and all he wants is to run over to Ian and kiss him like they've been apart for decades when really, its only been a week, but he knew he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even talk to Ian or everything that he's done in the past few days would all go downhill. He has lied and lied and lied, just to make sure that the cops dropped any trails leading to Ian, and if he so much as exchanged a hello with Ian, it would fuck everything up, so with a heavy heart, he turns to the guard, saying, “No.”

“No what?” the guard replies irritably, rolling his eyes.

“No, I don't wanna fucking see this guy,” Mickey growls, the muscles in his cheek jumping as he tries not to break down in front of Ian.

The guard sighs, then mutters a few words into his walkie talkie, then the guard on the other end of the glass windows nods, grabbing Ian's arm and Ian's face immediately falls as he struggles to wiggle out of the guard's grip, but he's not strong enough and he's sending signals to Mickey, but Mickey just watches him being dragged out with cold eyes and he doesn't realise his nails are digging into his palms until he accidentally cuts through his skin and blood drips from his hands.

“Sure you didn't wanna see that guy?” the guard asks, a mocking tone to his voice and Mickey just gives him a cold stare.

“Just take me back,” Mickey grunts, turning to the door, but then the guard puts a hand on him, saying, “Hold on there, smartass.”

Mickey breathes out heavily, saying, “What now?”

“Someone wants to talk to you,” the guard says gruffly, tugging on Mickey's arm and Mickey yanks himself away from the guard's grip, scowling and he snaps, “I told you, I don't wanna fuckin' see- _Alex_.”

Mickey gulps as he faces the person on the other side of the glass and Alex's face is spotted with bruises and he's limping towards the chair and when he finally manages to drop himself into the seat, he slowly picks up the phone and shakes it, and Mickey doesn't know why, but he walks over to the booth and sits down, grabbing the phone and he hesitantly puts it to his ear.

“Hi,” Alex says, his voice shaking slightly and he tries to smile, but he can't, and he notices the red liquid on Mickey's hands so his eyebrows furrow and he says, “That doesn't look good. Everything okay?”

“Look, we both know you ain't here to talk about my health,” Mickey snaps, putting on a scowl.

“Right,” Alex murmurs, awkwardly coughing. Then he says, “Lip came to visit me in the hospital.”

“Lucky you,” Mickey sneers, giving him a cold glare. “Must be nice to know Lip's still your little bitch even after you screwed up his life.”

“He was never my-” But Alex stops himself, shaking his head, then he gives Mickey a half-smile. “I kinda wished it was you who came to visit.”

“Sorry,” Mickey says, baring his teeth in an unfriendly grin. “I've been a little fucking busy, you know, being in jail.”

“No one asked you to start a fight, Mick,” Alex says, his eyebrows pulling together.

“Don't call me that,” Mickey says in a snarky tone. “At least I'm doing the time for the fights I start. Did you?”

“No, I didn't,” Alex mutters, his head dropping. “And I regret it every single day-”

“Just cut the crap, Alex, what do you want?” Mickey asks irritably, feeling squeamish already.

Alex sighs, rolling his lips into his mouth, then finally he says, “I'm gonna make a confession.”

And Mickey snorts, giving him a mocking smile, “Oh, good for you!” Then he squeezes his eyes shut, the sarcastic smirk on his face growing. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I'm a piece of shit that ditched my best friends-”

“I'm gonna confess to the Kyle Samuels case,” Alex says, not being able to bear hearing Mickey's taunting any longer. “Its time to come clean.”

“You're gonna- Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Mickey seethes, anger boiling in his chest. “Its time? Why is it the time to come clean _now_? Why not four years ago when Lip and I were being thrown into jail because of what you did? Jesus, Alex, why would you do this?”

“I'm doing this to help you,” Alex hisses into the phone and his voice drops to a low tone, saying, “Look, Mick, I know you don't think that I give a shit about you, but I do. I always have. And I know what I did to you and Lip was... It was the lowest of lows, but I'm gonna fix it now. I'm gonna confess and when I do, nobody's gonna give two fucks that you beat up a bunch of kids and you'll be out. _I promise_.”

“You promise?” Mickey repeats, and he almost laughs. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore and I- God, just get the fuck out of here, alright?”

“Fine,” Alex says numbly, but he gives Mickey the warmest look he can manage and he says, “Believe what you want, Mickey, but soon enough, I'll be the one on that side of the glass and I- I'm not asking for you to forgive me, I don't deserve that, but I do want to know if you still give a shit about me and if you do, then you'll trust that I'm gonna get you out of here.”

“Just leave, Alex,” Mickey says and his voice is soft, cracking a little. “Please.”

“Okay,” Alex says, a sad smile on his face and he gets up, hanging up the phone then he drags himself away until he disappears out the door and Mickey drops the phone, his blood staining the plastic handle and he buries his face in his hands, not knowing what to feel because even after all these years, Alex still made him feel like complete utter shit and he didn't know what to do about it.

•

“ _I promise_.”

God, Mickey was so sick of hearing that, especially from Alex. What was the point of promises anyway? They get broken all the time. Alex has proved that.

\--

_“Hey, you guys know that kid Kyle Samuels?” Alex asks, looking between Mickey and Lip, puffing on his cigarette. “He's a grade above you, isn't he?”_

_Then Lip smirks, saying, “Well, he's a grade above me, a million above Mickey since he can't even get past freshman classes.”_

_Mickey shoves Lip's head, scowling and he mutters, “Not everybody's a smartass like you, alright.”_

_Lip laughs at that and so does Alex, but then Alex gives Mickey's arm a light punch and he says, “Don't worry, Mick, I'm supposed to be a senior next semester but I'm still stuck in sophomore year.”_

_“It's worse for you because you actually look seventeen,” Lip says, snorting a little, then sneers at Mickey, “At least Mickey's height makes him look like he belongs in the 9th grade.”_

_“Oh, shut up, you shithead,” Mickey snaps, kicking Lip in the shin, but Lip just flips him off, saying, “Who are you calling a shithead, you shithead?”_

_“You're both shitheads, alright?” Alex intervenes, before the two of them choked each other to death, and he laughs, shaking his head. “God, I don't even know why I put up with you two kids.”_

_“Because you're kind of a shithead too,” Mickey teases, his tongue poking out between his lips and Alex rolls his eyes._

_“Well, there's that,” Alex says, chuckling lowly. “And everyone that's my age, well, they're all fuckers anyway. So, back to Kyle, you know him?”_

_“I guess,” Lip says, shrugging then he looks at Mickey, who just nods, so he turns back to Alex, asking, “Why? What's up with him?”_

_“He sort of owes me something and uh, he hasn't given it to me so I thought that maybe we could go give him a little hell, shake him up a bit?” Alex has a wild look in his eyes, shining with excitement and Lip immediately agrees, but Mickey doesn't say anything, so Alex pokes his shoulder, asking, “What do you say, Mick?”_

_“Do we have to?” Mickey asks, squirming a little. “I mean, what does he owe you?”_

_“Just some money,” Alex says slowly, shrugging his shoulders lightly._

_“Money for...?” Mickey still doesn't feel too good about doing this, just for money._

_“Does it matter?” Alex laughs, then he says, “If you're too much of a pussy to join us...” And that gets to Mickey because he huffs loudly, but he grins, saying, “I'm in.”_

_Then Alex whoops, jumping up and Lip gets up too, excitedly running downstairs, then Alex fishes around his table for a small packet, then he drops a small blue pill on his palm and he throws it into his mouth, swallowing it dry and he feels a buzz spread throughout his body and Mickey just watches him with beady eyes, then he hesitantly asks, “What was that?”_

_And Alex is seemingly shocked, saying, “Jesus, Mick, I thought you went downstairs.” Then he chuckles lightly, but Mickey just raises an eyebrow at him, so he says, “That- that was nothing. Just a little something for the nerves, you know?”_

_“Right,” Mickey mutters, about to turn away but then he sees Alex shove a bulk into the back of his pants and he asks, “Is that a gun?”_

_“What? Oh, uh, yeah,” Alex says, laughing a little and he pulls it out, waving it in Mickey's face._

_“Do you really need that? I mean, I thought we were just gonna throw the guy around a little,” Mickey says, worry rising up in his throat._

_“We are,” Alex says, putting on a bright grin. “Its not even loaded, alright? I just thought I'd use it to scare him a bit.”_

_“Are you sure?” Mickey asks, eyeing the black gun carefully, but Alex pulls it away, hiding it under his shirt again and he grips Mickey's shoulders, saying, “Relax, Mick, I know what I'm doing. No one's gonna get hurt, I promise.”_

_And Mickey believes him. Why wouldn't he? Alex was his best friend, after all. There was no reason for him to make a promise he wouldn't keep, so Mickey nods, then Alex gives him a pat on the back, saying, “Now, come on, sun's gonna be up soon and I don't wanna do this in daylight.” And they both run downstairs, grabbing Lip before racing through the streets of their neighbourhood, and no one gives them a second glance, because in Southside, three teenage boys running around in the middle of the night wasn't enough to spark curiosity, or so they thought._

•

“Milkovich!”

Mickey hears his name being called and he's sure that its way too early in the morning, even though his cell didn't have a window to tell him the time of day, but he knew, which is why he yells back, “The fuck do you want?”

And a guard shows up in front of the bars, flashing a toothy grin at Mickey and he says, “Get up, kid, you have another visitor. Popular little fucker, aren't ya?”

“Who is it now?” Mickey groans, not wanting to get out of bed, even though it could hardly be called a bed, what with the out-of-shape frame and the thin mattress and scratchy sheets.

“Gallagher, I think,” the guard huffs, then raps on the bars, signalling Mickey to hurry up.

“Not again!” Mickey grumbles, dropping his face into his hands and he can't understand why Ian couldn't take a hint and just stay the fuck out of this.

“What are you talking about?” the guard says, pulling a long face. “He hasn't visited before.”

“What?” Mickey says, immediately sitting up and he realises its not Ian, but instead, Lip. “Is it Lip?”

“How the hell should I know?” the guard replies gruffly, then says, “Do you wanna go or not?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says, hopping off the bed and following the guard into the visiting room and sure enough, Lip was sitting there, his fingers drumming against the counter and his eyes keep flickering up at God knows what and his lips are moving rapidly, like they do whenever he's thinking hard on something. So when Mickey drops down into the seat and picks up the phone, he says, “If you ain't figuring out how to break me out, you should just leave now.”

“Go fuck yourself, man,” Lip says, grinning a little and Mickey laughs. “Prison wearing you down? Become anyone's bitch yet?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, giving Lip the finger and he mutters, “Not fucking likely.” Then he straightens up, clearing his throat and he asks, “The fuck you doing here so early anyway?”

“Oh, I, uh, I have an exam this morning so I thought I'd drop by before I went to school,” Lip explains and Mickey just grimaces.

“An exam right before Christmas break?” Mickey says, shaking his head. “I don't understand why anyone would willingly go to school.”

“Because some of us don't wanna end up behind bars,” Lip chimes, eyebrows waggling at Mickey.

“But you did anyway,” Mickey retorts, snorting, then his lips press into a straight line, and he hesitantly says, “Speaking of, Alex came to visit yesterday.”

“He- he did?” Lip says, sitting up straighter. “What'd he say?”

 _That he was going to confess to the Kyle Samuels case and get me out of here_ , is what Mickey wants to say, but he didn't wanna get Lip's hopes up because Alex has let them down way too many times and Lip didn't deserve that anymore, so Mickey lifts a shoulder nonchalantly and he says, “Nothing, really. Just some bullshit about how he was sorry.” Then slowly, he adds, “He, uh, he also said that you went to see him in the hospital.”

Lip's face immediately falls and he scratches the back of his neck, saying, “Yeah, I did. You know, I- When I heard that you got into a fight with him, I knew that you'd do some serious damage and I just- I had to know that he was okay.”

“Jesus,” Mickey mutters, his jaw tightening. “You know there's no such thing as redemption for a guy like Alex, right? Hell, look at me. Two years on parole and I still end up back in the can.”

“I know, Mick!” Lip snaps, his fist clenching around the handle of the phone. “Its not like I forgave him or anything. I didn't throw a fucking party and shit for the guy. But he _was_ our best friend, alright? I'm sorry I wanted to know whether he was still fucking alive or not.”

Mickey is quiet for a while, but then he nods, murmuring, “Yeah, alright. I just wanted to make sure you remember what kind of guy he is.”

“Of course I do,” Lip replies in a sombre tone, but then he asks, “But do you? I mean, you talked to Alex, but you wouldn't let Ian visit?”

 _Shit_ , Mickey thinks to himself and he makes a mental note to let Ian know what a fucking idiot he was when he got out of here. Mickey sighs, but then he says, “I had no reason to see Ian.”

“I thought you guys were friends,” Lip says, eyebrows furrowed and his expression deepens when Mickey replies with, “Not really, though.” And he says it so calmly, he's almost scared at how easily he can lie about Ian, but then he chalks it up to the fact that this was the only way to save Ian's ass so he better do a damn good job.

“He was pretty upset it about, though,” Lip says, frowning at Mickey. “You could've at least said hi to the kid.”

“Look, I've kinda got a lot of things going on right now so I'm sorry that I couldn't entertain your little puppy,” Mickey snaps and he almost convinces himself that he didn't want to see Ian, but then he pictures Ian's face and he suddenly feels overwhelmed by guilt and he has to take a few breaths before saying, “Just tell him to get over it, alright?”

“Right,” Lip says, clicking his tongue and he's looking at Mickey with disappointment in his eyes. “Just get over it, like how I just have to get over Alex, right? You know what, Mickey? Maybe Ian should feel lucky that you didn't talk to him. At least he wouldn't feel like shit.”

“Hey, Lip-” Mickey starts, but Lip has already dropped the phone, getting up to leave and Mickey yells, “ _I didn't do anything wrong!_ Lip!” But Lip's gone and Mickey's left alone to rot.

•

“ _I didn't do anything wrong!_ ”

Mickey's been trying to tell people that his entire life, but for some damn reason, no one would ever fucking believe him. And maybe it was the fact that he was a Milkovich and they were all fucked for life anyway, but for the most part, its because he didn't even believe himself sometimes, even when he knew that he wasn't the one to blame.

\--

_“Having a good day, Kyle?” Alex asks, walking straight ahead towards Kyle Samuels, and as soon as Kyle locks eyes with him, he turns to run in the opposite direction, but Alex calls after him, “No, man, don't even think about running. My boys aren't letting you go anywhere.” And he's right, because Mickey and Lip are blocking Kyle's way, arms crossed over their chests, smug looks on their brooding faces, and Kyle is forced to turn back to Alex._

_“You know, I don't really like it when people don't pay up what they owe me,” Alex says, sighing loudly and he advances on Kyle, who backs up until he bumps into the other two boys._

_“I- I told you, I can get you the money,” Kyle stammers, his voice trembling. “I just don't have it now.”_

_“But you were supposed to pay me weeks ago,” Alex snarls, jabbing a finger to his chest, making Kyle yelp a little. Then, Alex gives him a sickly sweet smile, saying, “I'm gonna give you a second chance.”_

_“Really?” Kyle asks, but then he realised that was the wrong thing to say, because Alex just says, “Nope!” Then he socks Kyle right in the eye, making him fall to the ground and Alex gives a nod of his head to the boys, and says, “Go ahead.” And Lip grins, slamming his foot into Kyle's stomach repeatedly, then he grabs the collar of Kyle's shirt, lifting him up and Mickey bashes him in the face, knocking him back down and Kyle groans, blood pouring out of his mouth._

_“I'm gonna call the cops,” Kyle manages to choke out, coughing up blood, but Alex just laughs, pressing his foot onto Kyle's chest to keep him down, and he says, “And you're gonna tell them what? You got beat up for not paying for the drugs you bought? Doesn't sound like a very convincing case, does it?”_

_“Wait, he owes you drug money?” Mickey asks, a gobsmacked look on his face as he whips his head around to face Alex and Alex gives him a cold glare, saying, “Its fine, Mick-” Then Kyle laughs and its hoarse, but he sneers, “Look's like your boy here doesn't sound too happy about you being a dealer, Alex. What else don't they know about you?”_

_“Shut up!” Alex snaps, and he pulls out the gun, pointing it at Kyle and Kyle's eyes widen, and Mickey puts a hand on Alex's arm, saying, “Come on, Alex. Everything's cool.” But Alex ignores him, shoving him off and the gun is shaking in his hand because he can't seem to stay still, the drugs from the pill still keeping him buzzed._

_“You don't look good, Alex,” Kyle taunts, and he's started crawling away from them, dragging himself across the pavement. “Was it something you took? What was it this time, ecstasy?”_

_“I said, shut the fuck up!” Alex screams and his finger pulls the trigger, then a loud boom emits from the gun as a bullet is fired into Kyle's chest, and Alex's jaw drops as he realises what just happened._

_“What the fuck, Alex?” Lip yells, gasping as blood starts to leak from Kyle's body and his eyelids flutter, his body slowly going limp._

_“I thought you said that thing didn't have any fucking bullets!” Mickey cries loudly, shoving Alex in the shoulders but Alex just stands there, eyes wide and face pale. “Jesus Christ, Alex!”_

_“Mickey!” Lip calls, kneeling down next to Kyle and his fingers are on Kyle's throat, his head shaking. “Mick, he's not breathing, there's no pulse.”_

_“What?” Mickey runs over to them, pressing his ear to Kyle's bloody chest and Lip is right, there was no heartbeat, not even the faintest sign of life, so Mickey turns to Alex, screaming at him, “Goddammit, Alex! Stop standing there like a statue and fuckin' do something, would you?”_

_“I- I-” Alex stammers, the gun falling from his fingers and his hands grip his head, his brain pulsing from the adrenaline, and he whimpers, “I don't know- I- I can't-”_

_“Call the fucking police!” Lip says, throwing a sharp look at Alex and his heart is hammering in his chest because Kyle was dead. Alex killed him._

_“No!” Alex cries, shaking his head violently. “We can't do that! No, please, we can't- Oh, God.”_

_“Its too late,” Lip mutters, his eyes widening at the sight of blue and red lights and his ears catch the sound of sirens. “They're already here.”_

_“What? No!” Alex's voice breaks and he can't breathe. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, we have to get out of here!”_

_“Get out of here? Alex, are you fucking insane?” Mickey says, staring wildly at his friend. “Kyle is dead! We can't just leave him here.”_

_“Yes, we can!” Alex says and suddenly, there's a crazed look in his eyes and laughter bubbles up his throat. “We can fucking leave him here and that's what we're gonna fucking do. Now, come on!”_

_“Will you stop being a fucking idiot for a second and look around you?” Mickey yells, jabbing a finger at Alex's face. “You killed someone! You can't just run away!”_

_And Alex gives him a dirty look, a snarky tone evident in his voice when he says, “Fucking watch me.” Then, without a second glance, Alex turns his back on them and he starts running and running and running and soon, he's gone completely from their sight and they're standing there, mouths wide open, a dead body lying next to them and they don't realise that the police have arrived until they hear, “Oh, God... Get some paramedics here right now!”_

_“There's no point,” Lip mumbles, barely loud enough for even Mickey to hear. “He's already dead.”_

_Then Mickey feels hands grab his wrists and metal cuffs are being snapped on, and instinctively, he jerks away from the officer, screaming, “Get the fuck off of me! Fucking bastards!”_

_“Mickey, don't fight them!” Lip snaps at him, letting himself be dragged away by the cops. “You're only making it worse!”_

_But Mickey doesn't listen to him, instead he squirms in the officer's grip, slamming his heel into the man's shin, but that just earns him a hard blow on the back of his head. Mickey's head lolls forward and he struggles as they try to push him into the back of the car, and he looks at them with wide eyes, pleading, “I didn't do anything wrong! Please! I swear, I didn't do anything!”_

_But the officer just grunts loudly, roughly shoving him into the car, saying, “Try telling that to the dead guy, kid.” And he slams the door shut and the adrenaline drains from Mickey's body, leaving him limp against the seat as he's being driven to the police station while Alex Carver is roaming free and for some reason, he was the one who felt guilty._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 12
> 
> There you go! The truth about Alex Carver! Do you think he's really gonna help Mickey or is he just gonna break his promise again? Let me know! Also, if this chapter was confusing, the parts in italics are flashbacks, but if you still have any questions, feel free to leave them in the comments and I'll answer them as best as I can. And thanks for reading!


	13. You got presents?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't a very merry Christmas for the Gallaghers without Mickey but Ian's determined to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 13
> 
> First of all, I'd like to apologise for how insanely and ridiculously late this is! I'm a complete asshole and I am so so so very sorry. But here you go! Tell me what you think :D

_Fuck._

That's the first thing that pops up in Ian's mind when he wakes up because he realises that its another day without Mickey and the thought of not having anyone to throw smartass remarks at or run around the streets with or give soft kisses to made him feel nauseous inside and he has to hold his heavy head in his hands for a while just to clear it. And once he does shake off the queasy feeling, he realises that Mickey was probably thinking the exact opposite of the things going through his brain and he was probably more than glad that he was far away from Ian. Ian should've seen it coming, he went too far, pushed Mickey too much, got too attached too quickly and Mickey hates him for it. It was obvious in the way that Mickey just stared at him icily as he was being dragged away by the security guards the other day, the way that Mickey didn't even try to stop them, the way that Mickey looked like he didn't give a crap about Ian at all and God, it fucking hurt, and Ian doesn't know why, but he still wants nothing more than to just run into Mickey's warm arms and stay there because that's the only place he's ever really felt safe and right now, with the icy winter weather chilling him to his bones, being with Mickey sounded like the best fucking idea in the world.

Sure, Ian could pretend that it was just a misunderstanding, that Mickey mistook him for someone else, that Mickey did want to see him, but then he'd be lying to himself and he's sick of lying. He didn't want to admit it, but there was no way he could deny the fact that he was a clingy bastard and from the start, he could tell that Mickey was more of a no-strings-attached type of guy but every time Mickey so much as smiled at him, he had hope that maybe Mickey would be different, but hope wasn't enough to hide the fact that Mickey practically turned him down and for some goddamn reason, Ian still feels weak at the knees when he thinks of Mickey and he doesn't think that's a good thing.

Ian's face is pulled into a deep frown when he reaches the bottom of the stairs and Fiona almost laughs at him, saying, “Good morning, grumpy.” He just grunts in return and lazily slides into a chair, his head immediately drooping down onto the table. Fiona sighs, going over to sit opposite him and she pokes at him, but he doesn't move. He's been like this ever since Mickey was arrested – all mopey and depressed. But then again, not exactly. At first, he was more guilty than he was upset, but after talking him through it, she managed to get him to realise that it wasn't his fault that Mickey wanted to take the fall for him and that he should be grateful for it. And that's when he decided to go visit Mickey, to say thank you, and God, did he look ecstatic that morning, all grins and giggles at the idea of going to see Mickey, and Fiona had told him how much of a hassle it was to book a visit with a Milkovich, especially when you weren't family, but Ian didn't care, he just wanted to see Mickey. But when he came back, way earlier than she expected him to, there was practically smoke coming out of his ears and she was almost afraid that he was gonna break something. He had muttered something about evil prison guards and stupid fucking boys and then he disappeared into his room for the rest of the day, but the next morning, Fiona managed to coax him into telling her what had happened and apparently, when he went to visit, Mickey didn't want to see him and Mickey didn't do anything when the guards were dragging him away. And for the first few days, he was mostly just... _pissed_ , for lack of better vocabulary. But then, he started perking up and he convinced himself that it was a misunderstanding and that Mickey probably mixed him up with someone else, but even Fiona knew no one could mistake Ian for someone else because, _well_ , he was Ian. What other teenage boy had orange hair and pale freckled skin in Southside? And Fiona figures that Ian sort of realised that too, because then he slipped into this glum, dejected mood and he's been that way since then, and it made everyone feel bad because Ian was supposed to be the sunshine of the family and seeing him so down made everything gloomy.

And to make things even worse, Mandy barges in through the back door, her hand cupped to her face as fresh red blood trails down her fingers and she's clad in, well, almost nothing and her bare legs are trembling as she drags herself to the bathroom, using her shoulder to push her way in, the squeaky taps and the sound of water rushing into the sink muffles Mandy's sobs.

“Mandy?” Fiona says slowly, hesitantly getting up from the table and approaching the bathroom. “Is everything okay?”

“You didn't fucking see anything, okay?” Mandy snaps hostilely, turning her head to Fiona and Fiona can see the bruises forming on her skin and she's about to say something, but Mandy slams the door in her face so loudly that even Ian lifts his head to see what's going on. He sees Fiona standing in front of the bathroom, a gobsmacked look on her face and he quietly asks, “Is there something wrong with Mandy?”

“I-I don't know,” Fiona replies, backing away from the door. “Why don't you ask her?”

And surprisingly, Ian gets up for once and his body is telling him not to, telling him to just sit down and be sad, but Mandy was his best friend and she needed him right now, so he forces himself to keep walking and he's standing in front of the bathroom, hands on either side of the door frame and he says, “Mandy? Its me. Can I come in?” But she doesn't reply and its quiet, because the taps are off and the only thing he can hear is her heavy breathing and again, he speaks, “Man-” But he's cut off when the door swings open and she's standing there, hands on her hips and a big smile on her lips and she says, “What? I'm fine.”

“You're... _fine?_ ” Ian asks, and his eyebrow is arched high, because he can't believe she's trying to fool him when he can see right through her phony grin and cheery façade.

“Yeah,” she replies, laughing a little as she pushes him aside, sauntering over to the table and picking up a piece of toast as if nothing had happened. Then, as she's chewing she says, “Kinda cold, don't you think?”

“You're in your pyjamas,” Ian stutters, gesturing at her thin t-shirt and tiny shorts.

“Right,” she says awkwardly, then forces a laugh but it comes out hoarse and dry. “I left my outfit for school in the laundry here, so I just thought I'd come like this.”

“You're going to school?” Fiona and Ian ask at the same time, the sound of shock clear in their voices.

“Yeah?” Mandy replies in a blank tone, her goofy grin getting even bigger and Ian wants to smack it right off because he knows its probably killing her inside.

“Are you sure about that?” Fiona says, eyebrows knitted together and she's chewing on her bottom lip. “I mean, its the last day before Christmas break. Even the kids are taking the day off.”

“You've been trying to get me to go to school the entire year and the one time I actually want to go is the time you tell me to stay home?” Mandy scoffs, laughing dryly. “No thanks, Fiona.”

Fiona's jaw slacks, then she turns to Ian with pleading eyes and it takes him a while to process what she's trying to convey, but he finally gets it and he turns to Mandy with a sugary smile, and he says, “You know, Mandy, I was thinking that maybe we could stay in today, watch some movies, bake a cake or something...”

“You want to bake?” Mandy asks, eyebrows raised and there's a skeptic look on her face. “There are easier ways to burn the house down, Ian.”

Ian groans, saying, “That's not the point! Just- God, stay at home, please?”

“Nope, not happening. I really want to go to school,” Mandy says, shaking her head and she starts giving Ian sharp looks and he furrows his eyebrows at her, but she continues her suggestive signals, mouthing words at him until he eventually understands and he nods eagerly, turning to Fiona.

“Actually, Fi, I just remembered that Mandy promised to take me to school one day, show me what its like in a public high school,” Ian rambles, trying not to stumble over his own words and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mandy nodding in agreement. “Plus, we could both use the fresh air, right?”

“Right!” Mandy says, then pulls Ian towards the stairs, flashing a grin at Fiona. “We're gonna go get ready and we're gonna go to school. Have fun at home, Fiona.”

Then they disappear up the stairs and Fiona's left staring at the empty staircase and she can't seem to piece together what just happened. Ian's up and going for the first time in days and Mandy wants to go to school? Jesus, these fucking kids were gonna be the death of her.

•

“You're not actually going to school, right?” Ian asks as they're walking down the wooden porch stairs, glancing at Mandy, whose bright grin was long gone from her face and its replaced with an icy glare that even he was afraid of.

“Fuck no,” she replies, sticking a cigarette between her lips and lights it. “I just needed an excuse to get out of there. Fiona already looks at me like I'm some washed up whore, I don't need her thinking I'm an abused puppy or something.”

“Were you abused?” Ian asks and he doesn't even try to sugarcoat it because there was no sugarcoating with Mandy, ever since Ian came out to her, everything between them was just pure honesty and they had a strict no judgement rule and he couldn't have asked for anyone else as his best friend.

“Is it abuse if your sorry excuse for a father beats the shit out of you because he's drunk off his ass?” she replies, scoffing and she drags on the cigarette until its all burnt out and she doesn't waste time in lighting up another one, except this time she passes it to Ian.

“Its abuse if anyone hurts you in any way that you don't want them to,” he says, giving her a hard look before passing the stick back to her.

“Well, shit happens,” she mutters, snow crunching under her boots and she shuffles closer to Ian, hoping to get more heat and he leans into her, their arms connecting at the crook of their elbows.

“Well, shit like that shouldn't happen in your own home,” he says, frowning at her and he means it. He's been lucky. With his parents, he always had a good home. It wasn't exactly the cosiest place and half the time, they weren't even there, but when they were home, they were decent enough. And school was, well, it was hell, but he loved it. He loved the adrenaline, the workouts, the thrill of being a soldier. Then, here, Southside. He might not have the most functional family in the world but he finally felt like he had a sense of belonging and there was no other place he would rather be.

Mandy, unfortunately, wasn't as lucky as he was and she gives him a half-hearted smile before saying, “Why do you think I'm at yours so much?” Then she sighs, shaking her head, letting it fall onto Ian's shoulder as they continue walking to God knows where and she says, “Mickey's the one who usually has my back if Dad ever tries to hurt me, but now Mick's in jail and Dad's out, so, you know. But, uh, let's just forget about my shit and talk about yours instead. What's got you all moody?”

“You just talked about him,” Ian mutters, not wanting to say his name because he'd rather not feel that ache in his chest whenever he mentioned him.

“What, my dad?” Mandy says, her face screwing up, then she realises what he meant and slaps her forehead. “Right, you were talking about Mickey. Sorry. What about him?”

“He's a jackass,” he grumbles, his own fingers fumbling around his pocket for a cigarette and he finally pulls one out and Mandy absentmindedly lights it for him and he inhales slowly.

“Tell me about it. It runs in the genes,” she says in return, laughing slightly, then she pats his chest lightly, saying, “Look, don't worry about it, alright? He's never done this whole being-with-a-guy thing and he probably just didn't know what to do because no one apart from me or Lip ever goes to visit him when he's locked up.”

“But I saw that Alex guy go in right after me and I'm pretty sure he went to see Mickey too and he wasn't dragged out by guards after five seconds,” Ian says, jealousy evident in his tone of voice.

“Alex as in Alex Carver?” Mandy asks and her voice is rigid, a frown forming on her face.

“Yeah,” Ian replies, his eyebrows pulling together at the odd look on Mandy's face. “Why?”

“I don't think we should talk about Alex,” she says quickly, forcing a small smile. “And if I were you, I wouldn't talk about him in front of Mickey either. Like, _ever._ ”

“Why not?” he asks, halting for a second, but then she groans and pulls his arm, forcing him to keep walking.

“Just- Don't, okay?” she says, giving him a sad smile. “Its not my place to tell you why but if Mickey does really like you, and I know he does, he'll tell you in his own time.”

“And if he doesn't?”

“He will,” she replies, giving him a soft nudge and he smiles. Then, her eyes lock on something and they immediately light up and her hand is on his chest, making him stop walking abruptly.

“What is it?” he asks, worry building up in his throat at the sudden movement.

“Look at that dress!” she says, her jaw almost dropping and he follows her gaze and finds himself looking at a mannequin dressed in a sleek black dress and he wants to choke her for almost making him freak out over a fashion crisis yet again, but the more he stares at it, the better it looks and he can't help but say, “Huh. Even I'd bang you if you were wearing that.”

Then she smacks his arm, but she laughs, saying, “That's not funny, Ian.” 

But he just grins stupidly, saying, “But you laughed, didn't you?” Then on a more serious note, he says, “But, really, Mandy, you'd look pretty fucking hot in that.”

“I know,” she says, pouting and he laughs at how conceited she sounds, but then she adds, “But Dad took all my work money to pay for drugs so, whatever.”

“You're kidding me, right?” he asks, giving her a furrowed look and she just shrugs in return so he scoffs loudly, saying, “What an asshole!”

She rolls her eyes, sighing and she tugs on his arm, picking up the pace and she says, “Like I said, its in the genes. Now, come on, let's go to the Alibi. I can sneak us some booze.” And he just laughs at how sure of herself she is and its comforting to know that at least one of them knew what the fuck they were doing and he just trails by her side and for a moment, he almost forgets about Mickey, but then he glances at her for a second too long and her dark hair, her twisted smile, her confident demeanour that almost makes him forget how small and fragile she is on the inside — it all reminds him of Mickey and its the little things that he misses the most and Jesus, if Mickey didn't come home soon, he doesn't know what would become of him.

•

Christmas finally rolls around and last night, Ian expected another big dinner like they had for Thanksgiving, but instead they sat around the tv and ate cold pizza and it was almost as if everyone forgot it was Christmas Eve. But it was morning now and he thought that everyone would be at least a little bit excited, but as soon as he goes downstairs, its like the temperature dropped twenty degrees and everyone's practically dragging themselves to the table, where there was only half empty boxes of cereal and a diluted carton of orange juice.

“Merry Christmas,” Ian says, trying to sound cheerful but it comes out slightly choked because well, who was he kidding? He was just as depressed as anyone else. Back home with his parents, Christmas was more about presents and good food, rather than family and friends. But he thought that here, since presents and good food required money that was hardly there, Christmas would be about being with family and all that It's A Wonderful Life bullshit. But there was only one person that Ian wanted to be with right now and that person was rotting away in a jail cell on Christmas morning because of him.

“Cheerios?” Fiona asks, offering the box to Ian, but Ian just grunts, waving her off and dropping himself into a seat next to Mandy, who doesn't look too ecstatic either as she pokes around at her soggy food.

“You okay?” Ian asks her, nudging her side, but she just gives him a long sigh, shaking her head.

“First Christmas without Mickey in years,” she mutters, swishing her spoon around in the bowl of milk. “He's usually the grinch but now, everyone seems to be taking up the role.”

“What, Mickey doesn't like Christmas?” Ian says, eyebrows raised, because really, who doesn't like Christmas?

“God, no,” Mandy replies, scoffing a little. “When we were little, Christmas would be the one time our dad was somewhat decent. Maybe because of our mom. She wasn't around a lot, but she'd never miss Christmas and Dad was always just... happy whenever she was here. But then, one Christmas, she just left. Never came back. And we were the ones who took the hits for it.”

“Shit,” Ian mumbles, feeling pity and guilt swallow him up and all he can say is, “That sucks. I guess you can't blame him for hating Christmas.”

“Yeah, well, looks like everyone hates Christmas this year,” she mutters back, glancing around at the sombre looks on everyone's faces. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Lip says, waltzing into the room. “What's with all the gloomy faces?” he asks, going over to shake some life into Carl, who looks like he's half-dead, head drooping over his uneaten breakfast.

“Well, Mick's not here-” Fiona says, but Lip groans loudly, interrupting her and he gives them all incredulous looks.

“You've gotta be kidding me!” he cries, a snarky tone to his voice. “Since when do any of you even give a shit about Mickey?”

“Well, with him gone, we've got less money being pulled into the Squirrel Fund and I just give a shit about whether or not we survive this winter,” Fiona snaps back, frustration evident in her voice as she buries her head in her hands.

“He's my brother,” Mandy says, eyebrows raised and Lip just waves her off, turning to the kids, saying, “What's your excuse?”

“Mickey always lets me drink some of his booze when you're all not looking,” Carl says, frowning at Lip.

“He's the only one who actually cares about what I cook,” Debbie groans, pushing away her food.

“I just thought we'd have a nice Christmas,” Ian mumbles, trying to sound like he couldn't care less, but Mandy catches the slight quiver in his voice and she gives him a small nudge, making him smile a little.

“We will,” Lip says, clasping his hands together. “When you all wake up and realise that Mickey's a piece of shit and we don't need him to have a good Christmas.”

“Lip,” Fiona says, a warning tone to her voice and her jaw is tight because she's so sick of hearing all this bitching and all she really wants is to just drown herself in some good wine and go back to bed.

“Look, I'm serious,” he says, scoffing loudly. “I went to see him the other day and I swear, its even worse when he's behind that glass because you can't just fucking choke him-”

“You went to see him?” Ian says suddenly, looking up with a furrowed look. “And they let you?”

“Well, yeah, but that's not the point-”

“Jesus, Lip,” Mandy says, giving him a cold stare. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“No, he's right,” Ian says, laughing slightly but it comes out almost choked as he forces a smile that sickens him to his stomach but he pushes away any good thoughts of the dark-haired boy and the only thing he pictures in his mind is Mickey's cold stare as the guards were dragging him away and it makes what he's about to say a hell of a lot easier. “Mickey is a piece of shit and we are gonna have a good Christmas, starting with presents.”

There's a sudden and not-so-subtle change in the atmosphere as soon as presents are mentioned and even Fiona snaps out of her sorrowful trance to say, “You got presents?” To which Ian responds with, “Yeah, with some money Dad left me.” And the way he's bouncing on his heels makes everyone slightly on edge at his sudden ecstatic attitude but with the idea of presents being given out, they were willing to look past it and instead they perked up when Ian left the kitchen for a minute and returned with a big bag full of gifts, resembling a skinny, redheaded Santa Claus. The first present he pulls out is a pink paper bag and he hands it to Mandy, who accepts it with a curious smile and she almost shrieks when she pulls out what's inside and she's gasping repeatedly, but she manages to say, “You got the dress I liked!”

Ian grins and this time, it actually feels real and its been a while since his smile reached his eyes and it felt so good that he didn't even flinch when Mandy wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug, saying, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” And he just laughs, holding her tightly and he says, “Well, I told you that you'd look good in it and I meant it.”

“Is the Mandy the only one who gets a present?” Carl asks, a deep frown on his face and Fiona immediately thwacks the back of his head, almost like a reflex and he just scoffs, “What, I'm just asking!”

“Of course not,” Ian says, smirking at Carl and he turns to his gift bag and when he spins back to face Carl, there's a long bright red skateboard and Carl's jaw almost drops straight to the floor, but he manages to contain himself and he runs over to Ian, taking the board from Ian's hands and he shouts, “Cool! Thanks, Ian!”

“I told you I'd teach how to skate, right?” Ian says, nudging Carl's head and Carl nods eagerly, dropping the board down on the floor and immediately jumping on it, the shiny wheels squeaking against the floor as he slides into the living room, only to be yelled at by Fiona, “No skating in the house, Carl!”

But he doesn't hear her, racing out the door with his new toy like a little boy and there's a loud boom, and they assume that he probably fell off the porch or something. None of them decide to go see, though, and they just eagerly turn back to Ian, who's holding a small rectangular box in his hands, which he then passes to Debbie, who accepts it with a funny smile and when she opens the top, her face lights up like a million fireflies and she screams, “A makeup kit? Ian, you're the best!” Then she runs over to him, wrapping her small arms around him and he laughs, squeezing her back and its all smiles and giggles, until Lip and Fiona shout, “You got her a makeup kit?! She's thirteen, Ian!”

“Well, I- I think that's old enough to start wearing makeup,” Ian stammers, putting a protective arm around Debbie. “I mean, lots of girls wear makeup at that age.”

“I did,” Mandy says, backing Ian up and she shoots a wink at Debbie, but Fiona just gives her a sharp glare and Lip rolls his eyes, but they don't say anything else, so Ian takes that as his cue to hand out the remaining presents. He pulls out a big brown bag and hands it Lip with a stupid grin, saying, “A year-supply of highly caffeinated coffee to make sure you don't fall asleep on those late night rides on the L or whenever you're cramming for a test.”

That makes Lip laugh and he takes the bag of coffee, shaking his head at Ian because its the most ridiculous gift he's ever gotten – not that he gets that many, anyway – but at the same time, its thoughtful in so many ways and the fact that it came from Ian made it even sweeter and Lip couldn't help but pull Ian into a big bear hug, his arms crushing Ian slightly. Ian grunts at the almost-suffocating embrace but he hugs Lip back, burying his face into Lip's shoulder and Lip feels his eyes water a little as he mumbles, “Thanks, kid.” And they pull away after a while, laughing awkwardly as they both try to regain the masculinity they lost in those few sappy seconds.

Ian then turns to Fiona, a small smile on his face and he says, “I wasn't exactly sure what to get you because you always seem to have everything when you probably don't, but, uh, I hope you like it.” Then he pulls out a bottle of expensive looking red wine, the kind you'd get at a fancy five-star restaurant, the kind you wouldn't find just lying around in the Gallagher home or anywhere in South Side for that matter. Fiona's eyebrows arch high as she takes the bottle from Ian, more gobsmacked than grateful at the gift, then Ian says, “I just thought you'd gotten sick of convenience store beers and it would be nice for you to have something a little better for a while.”

“You are-” But Fiona doesn't finish her sentence, she just goes over to squeeze Ian between her skinny arms, pressing kisses to his cheek and sure, it was just a bottle of wine, but then again, sometimes all you need is a bottle of good wine. After she pulls away from him, he sheepishly says, “That's not all.” Then he retrieves an envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and hands it over to Fiona, who takes it with caution and peeks inside, only to almost choke on her own saliva.

“Ian, what is this?” she asks, blinking several times at the contents of the envelope.

“Its money,” he replies, eyebrows furrowed and he shrugs lightly.

“Its _a lot_ of money,” Fiona says back, looking up at him with big eyes. “Where'd it come from?”

“Its mine,” he says quickly, then adds, “I mean, its the money my dad left me. I used some of it to get these presents but that's what's left of it and I thought that you should have it.”

“No, Ian, this is your money,” she says, shaking her head as she tries to give him back the envelope. “I can't take this from you.”

“I'm seventeen, Fiona,” he says, a smile forming on his face. “What am I supposed to do with five grand?”

“You could keep it, for your future,” she insists, pressing the money into his palm but he won't take it.

He just laughs slightly, refusing to take the money back, saying, “I already have money put away in an account that's meant for my future that's accessible when I turn eighteen, but this money, its for you, its for this family. So, please, keep it.”

After a few moments of hesitation, Fiona sighs loudly, reluctantly shoving the envelope into her pocket as she embraces Ian again, her hand holding his head tightly to hers and she says, “You're an amazing kid, you hear me? Promise me you won't fuck up your life like I did.”

Ian wants to tell Fiona that she didn't fuck up her life, that she's the most amazing person he knows, that she's doing things that no normal twenty-two year old woman would be able to do at her age. He wants to say that he kinda already fucked up a little, what with the unstable anxiety, the endless nose-breaking fights, and the fact that he was more than head over heels for a guy that was the epitome of trouble. But Fiona didn't need to hear that, no one needed to hear that. So the only thing he says is, “I promise.”


	14. Can I fucking eat now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Years Eve rolls around and a couple of surprises show up at the Gallagher house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I KNOW ITS BEEN A BILLION AND ONE YEARS SINCE I UPDATED AND I DON'T BLAME YOU IF YOU HATE ME AND I REALLY REALLY AM SORRY FOR THIS WAY WAY WAY OVERDUE CHAPTER AND AFTER READING THIS YOU'RE PROBABLY GONNA HATE ME MORE BUT HERE YOU GO

“Can you believe its been, like, a month since you showed up?” Mandy says to Ian as she sets plates on the table, the sudden thought popping up in her head as she realises how many days have gone by since she first met the scared, freckled face boy that she now calls her best friend and he seems to be as surprised as she is because he stops what he's doing – not that he was doing much besides trying to make the dinner table look decent for the night – and he furrows his eyebrows at her.

“Really?” he says, the cloth in his hand waving about as he crosses his arms. “Only a month? Feels like a lifetime.”

“Feels like a day ago too, though,” she replies and its true. She can still remember the innocent, naïve look on his city-boy face and the sweet, flowery smell on his branded clothes and the bright, almost blinding grin on his thin lips. And she finds it almost hard to believe that the boy standing in front of her – with his rugged looks, the style of the Southside and his tobacco scent, from all the smoking and his chapped lips, pulled into a deep frown and his battle scars, from all the fights – is the same boy she met a month ago.

“What is it?” Ian asks suddenly and Mandy's snapped out of her momentary trance, blinking rapidly at him.

“What's what?” she says, not exactly sure what he was referring to and the fact that she looked so lost made Ian grin a little and he says, “You were staring at me.”

“Oh,” she says, her cheeks flushing and she twists her head so that her hair covers her bright red face. “Its nothing. I just noticed how much you look like Mickey.”

“I look like Mickey?” Ian repeats, laughter bubbling up in his throat and he adds, “Oh, yeah, the hair really pulls it off, huh?”

Then she smacks his arm at his teasing, but she smiles anyway, saying, “I just meant that you finally look like a Southside guy, alright?”

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” he replies, smirking a little. “I noticed it too.” And he means it. He noticed how his hair had grown out, so long that he had to constantly push it back to avoid having it fall into his face, no trace of the cropped army-boy look. He noticed how his muscles were more defined, much more than when he was in military school, probably from the fights and all the lifting of heavy objects around here. He noticed how his fashion sense had gone from pressed button down shirts to t-shirts and leather jackets, most of his old clothes stuffed in a bag under his bed, his new clothes mainly composed of black items. He noticed how he went through a pack of cigarettes like it was nothing, sometimes needing more than one pack a day, the smell of tobacco constantly floating off his body. He noticed how marked his skin was, scars from the wounds he got, new bruises forming on his pale skin every single day. And he understands what Mandy meant because when he thinks of Mickey, those are the things that come to mind. The long, messy hair and the strong, muscular arms and the dark, rugged clothing and the heavy, tobacco scent and the pale, marked skin. Ian was Mickey, in every possible way.

“Maybe if you stopped daydreaming, you'd notice that you've been wiping that cloth at air,” someone chirps from behind them and Ian blinks, realising his hand was indeed waving around in mid-air. Sheepishly, he drops the dirty cloth onto the table, turning to meet his sister's eyes, which greet him warmly. “You kids should go get ready, its almost dinner time.”

“We are ready,” Ian says, crossing his arms, but Mandy gives him a side glance, shaking her head, “I'm not.”

“She's not,” he repeats, but adds, “I am.” 

But Mandy rolls her eyes, patting his chest as she says to Fiona, “He's not.” Then she turns to him, eyebrows raised, “You're not.”

“I guess I'm not,” Ian sighs, then he turns to trudge up the stairs, while Mandy opts for the bathroom on the lower floor and he drags his own body to the tub upstairs, forcing himself to let the cold water rain over his body and the goosebumps on his skin, the tremble in his legs, the shudder in his shoulders are screaming at him to get out of the shower, to wrap himself in a big towel, to feel warmth. But he doesn't. Not because he can't, but because he didn't want to. He could just turn the knob and step out of the tub, but he has no intention to get warm. All he wants is to be cold. Cold and fucking numb, because at least then, he wouldn't have to feel so much. He wouldn't have to feel anxiety build up in his chest, feel guilt consume the pit of his stomach, feel emptiness in the space where his heart should be, feel anger bubble up his throat. All those feelings just reminded him of Mickey and it was only times like these, numbed by freezing water, that he could forget those feelings, forget Mickey.

Eventually, he had to get out of the bathroom because he'd end up getting pneumonia if he didn't and everyone else was yelling at him to hurry up because they were all ready for their New Years Eve dinner and he was the only one missing, so he quickly gets dressed up in a nice black shirt with a pair of jeans and he slicks back his hair with some gel, but a few stubborn strands fall forwards into his face anyway, and he doesn't bother pushing them back anymore. He takes one last look in the mirror and he cracks a smile, because that was one of his New Years resolutions – to be happy again, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes and a scowl takes it place, but he tries his best to hide it as he jogs down the stairs to meet the rest of them at the dinner table, where a ton of food was spread out neatly and immediately, Ian asks, “Where did all that come from?”

“Fell from the sky,” Kevin replies, a smug smile on his face and Veronica gives him a lazy roll of her eyes, scoffing.

“Got an early bonus at work,” Fiona quips, shooting a wink at Ian as she steers him to the table, pushing him down onto a chair and she calls the rest of the kids and they all take a seat, Lip and Mandy forced to pull up a couple of stools because there isn't enough space, but there's more than enough food to go around and Fiona brings out the bottle of wine that she kept from Christmas and she pours a few glasses for the older ones, slapping Carl's hand away when he tries to reach for Ian's glass. 

After the bottle's nearly drained and half the food is gone from the table, the adults are more than a little tipsy, considering Kevin had snuck some harder liquor into their glasses when he thought the kids weren't looking, and the teens are buzzed because they ditched the fancy wine to light up a joint because they knew the adults wouldn't notice, and the kids go straight for dessert and nobody stops them because everyone else is way too wasted to care. Its right then — with Fiona downing another shot of vodka, Mandy giggling away after another hit of pot and Carl shovelling another scoop of cake into his mouth — that the front door swings open, banging loudly against the wall and almost immediately, everyone falls into silence.

“Fuckin' freezing out there,” a voice says and those four words are more than enough to make every single person in the room sober up, all eyes – bright and wide – turning to the short figure stalking through the living room, cigarette burning between his pale lips, scarf wound tightly around his neck to keep him warm in the harsh winter and even before he completely makes his way to the dinner table, everyone's jaws are on the ground, their eyes bulging out of their heads as if they needed to get a closer look at the young man, their minds refusing to believe that it was him.

Mickey had never been a fan of being the centre of attention. He never liked being addressed personally in a large crowd, having his name called out in front of everyone like prison guards did when he was in jail. He hated when people stared at him, with their beady little eyes, gawking, speculating, like he was some kind of lab rat they could observe. He found it revolting how some people thought that making him the main attraction would somehow relieve the pity they felt for him, like shoving him into the spotlight would actually mean something to him. He liked the way his life was; everyone knew Mickey Milkovich, because he was Mickey fucking Milkovich, and everyone knew to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. But these fucking Gallaghers – and yes, Kevin and Veronica and Mandy were considered Gallaghers too – they just didn't give a shit and if they were anyone else, they would be out cold by now with the way they're staring at Mickey, but they're fucking family so instead, with the most irritated tone he can muster up, he says, “The fuck you lookin' at? You're the dipshits who had a party and didn't invite me.”

And a collective breath of relief is let out around the table as they realise that it is, in fact, their dear Mickey and they're about to bombard him with a million different questions like “how the fuck did he get out so early” or “why didn't he tell anyone he was coming back” or “when did he actually get out” or “where did he go when he was released”, but those questions are all pushed aside when Ian shoots up from his seat, his back straightening and his green eyes immediately clash with Mickey's blue ones and there's a burning intensity in them that reminds Mickey of the moments before they kiss and Mickey wonders whether that's what Ian is about to do and he feels a churning in his stomach because as much as he'd like to practically shove his tongue down Ian's throat, he knows he can't do that, not yet, not here, so he slowly starts to back away, not so subtly making it clear to everyone else that he's moving away from Ian, but it doesn't seem to hit Ian that Mickey's trying to get away from him because Ian continues to advance on him and his long legs take him further than Mickey's small scuffling steps and he's only a foot away from Mickey, a dark and heavy look on his face that Mickey can only comprehend as sexual frustration and he almost can't believe that Ian would throw away all their careful interactions and secret booty calls just because he couldn't hold back his nuts for a couple more hours, but he's taken completely by surprise when instead of Ian's lips attacking him, its Ian's fist that meets his face, a loud crack echoing through the room as hard knuckles connect with his jaw, sending him reeling into the wall, where thankfully, there were no hazardous objects to hurt him as he clings to the plaster with one hand while the other hand carefully touches his aching cheek.

The blue pigments in his eyes flashing a shade darker, he whips his head around to face the redhead, almost screaming, “What the fuck was that for, Gallagher?”

“For not wanting to see me when I visited, Milkovich,” Ian scoffs back, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and really, it should be. Everyone knows that's the only reason Ian was ever depressed to begin with.

Mickey sighs as his cold fingers massage the bruised flesh, because he can't believe he just got clocked yet again by Ian Gallagher over another stupid thing and he starts to say, “Oh, Jesus-”

But he doesn't get to finish because Ian's on a fucking roll and he won't shut up, his strained voice shouting, “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me just to get in there since I'm not family?”

Mickey has to blink several times to remember that they aren't the only two in the room and that there are more than half a dozen pairs of ears listening to every word that comes out of his mouth so he chooses his words carefully, making sure to make himself sound like he didn't even a crap but at the same time not enough to hurt Ian anymore than he already had, and eventually, he says, “If your name's Gallagher, then you are fuckin' family.”

The generic response stings Ian a little, but a small sneeze from Liam reminds him that they were in a room with other people and apart from Fiona and Mandy, he and Mickey were still in the dark, so he refuses to let it get to him, but the words that come out of his mouth betray him. 

“Yeah, well, not to the police and apparently not to you because you wouldn't even fucking talk to me,” is what he snaps back and he tries not to sound like such a baby, but he fails miserably and even though Mickey knew Ian was pissed at him, he almost grinned at the small pout on Ian's lips.

Instead of falling to his knees at Ian's puppy face, Mickey clears his throat, averting his gaze and he mutters, “I had to.”

“What does that even mean?” Ian groans, feeling agitated as his fingers comb through his hair to stop them from clawing at Mickey's annoying – yet insanely handsome – face. “You had to not talk to me?”

“To save your ass, yeah!” is Mickey's response and he's almost annoyed too, his teeth gritting because why can't Ian just fucking drop it already?

But then again, its Ian and its no surprise that he asks another stupid fucking question and of course it has to be, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Mickey licks his dry lips, out of habit, then he finally trains his eyes on Ian and he's surprised to see that Ian still has that angry spark in his green orbs and its probably the first time Mickey's seen Ian so frustrated, and if he was completely honest, it was actually pretty hot, but he can't think about that now, so he shakes his head lightly and calmly says, “They claimed I had an accomplice and witnesses saw a guy running away from the alley and told the cops, so I had to act like I didn't fucking know you.”

“Why'd they think it was me?” Ian retorts, eyebrows raising high and disappearing under his mop of hair.

“They saw you close enough to describe the guy as redheaded with freckles,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes quite obviously. “You seen any other carrot tops in this town?”

“Really? That close?” Ian gapes, his jaw slacking. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, real stealthy, slick,” Mickey sneers and he means to sound condescending, but his tone comes out as playful and he almost catches a smile tugging at Ian's lips, but Ian looks away too quickly for him to be sure, so he just sighs, putting on his best submissive face because he was fucking tired and God, that lasagna looked good, and he mutters, “Look, they were onto you, so I had to play dumb and pretend I didn't know you. Don't take it personally, ginger.”

Hearing the nickname, Ian's spirits were more than lifted and a bright smile stretches across his face as he lifts one shoulder, saying, “Well... I don't know what to say.”

Rolling his pretty eyes yet again, Mickey throws an awfully sarcastic smile at Ian, muttering, “You could fucking say thanks, maybe.”

To that, Ian snorts, but he knows he owes a shitload of gratitude to Mickey for saving his ass and as much as he hated to admit it, it was actually kind of sweet. Like, romance novel sweet. Troubled teen lies to the cops and acts like an asshole to protect his boy toy from being caught too. Yeah, people eat that shit up and sob about it into their over-buttered popcorn. So despite the fact that Ian knew that admitting defeat and thanking Mickey would probably result in Mickey gloating about it for God knows how long, he puts on a sugary smile, deliberately darting out his pink tongue for a split second to wet his lips because he knows that would be the place Mickey had his eyes on, and “Thanks, Mick,” is what he says in a cool, smooth voice that makes Mickey want to melt and pool around his feet in a puddle.

Ignoring the fact that his heart was hammering in his chest and his cheeks were burning red, Mickey manages to choke out, “Yeah, whatever.” But it doesn't come out as dismissive as he had hoped, instead he just sounds like a wounded puppy seeking attention and he knows Ian notices because the damn guy wouldn't stop with the smirking and the fucking lip licking and it took every nerve in his body not to just go over and give himself completely to Ian, and God, it fucking hurt, the ache in his groin growing and for the first time, he's grateful that his jacket is two sizes too big for him and its long enough to hide the hard-on he's getting just from looking at Ian, but then he feels a sharp pain above his crotch and its then that he realises what hurts even more, so he lets out a frustrated grumble and asks, “Can I fucking eat now?”

•

“So, you were in there, what, two weeks?” Fiona asks, cocking her head at Mickey as she watches him unattractively shove food into his mouth, hardly bothering to look the least bit civilised and she cringes when he belches loudly.

“Barely,” he mutters, reaching for another wing and he gives them all a hard look. “Still, felt like hell. Don't fucking recommend it for any of you pussies. You wouldn't last a day.”

“I object,” Lip says, smirking a little and if Mickey wasn't so glad that Lip decided to drop his grudge, he might've knocked Lip on the side of his skull for even mentioning that.

But since they were on the topic, Mickey straightened up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and he says, “Speaking of, wanna know how I got out?”

All heads nod eagerly, wondering how Mickey, of all people, could get out early and it obviously wasn't because of good behaviour. So Mickey clears his throat, a mischievous grin on his lips that makes everyone lean in a little closer to hear what he has to say and after a few heavy moments of suspense, he starts to say, “Well, first, I tricked the guard into getting into my cell and I had this whacky cellmate who launched himself at the fat fuck while I got the keys, then-”

“Oh, cut the crap, Mick,” Mandy interrupts, a dirty scowl twisting her lips and she has the scariest glare in her eyes that makes even Mickey tremble a little. “You're a street thug, not a fucking criminal mastermind. Get to the real story.”

Mickey frowns at her, flicking a piece of pasta at her face, which only enrages her even more and he finds it funny how he's only been home for half an hour and already they were at each others throats, but that was how it always was between them and he wouldn't have it another way, so he flashes a crooked grin, but its more of a grimace and he has to force the words out of his mouth, but eventually they come out, “Alex Carver.”

There's a sudden drop in the temperature and a heavy silence falls over them like a blanket, because its the first time in a long time that anyone has heard Mickey referring to Alex so directly and Mandy clicks her tongue to break the silence, muttering, “I said, stop with the bullshit.” And her eyes dart over to Lip, who has a dark mask over his face at the mention of the name, and she's not sure whether its anger or sadness that clouds his features, but either way, he's definitely not high anymore. Then her eyes meet Ian's, and thank Lord for that, because his lips were parted, as though he was about to say something but as soon as his gaze caught hers, his mouth shuts, the words he was about to utter catching in his throat.

“Its not bullshit,” Mickey spits, already tired of his sister's antics and its only 9.30. He sighs heavily as he decides to explain what really happened, but before he does, he sticks a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it up, then he continues as smoke blows out through his nose, “Our dear friend, Alex decided to give the cops a well overdue visit and admitted to the Kyle Samuels case.”

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Lip says, his eyes widening and there's a look on his face that seems to be disbelief but there's something else there. _Relief._

“Trust me, I'm not,” Mickey replies, a lazy, content smile stretching his lips as he looks over at Lip. “All the overcrowding and shit, so, you know. Teen murder versus alley fight...” Mickey trails off, symbolically weighing out the two cases with his hands to show that Alex's case was much more important than his, which was how he got released early.

“Holy shit,” is Lip's response, and at first, his eyebrows are furrowed, but then he repeats himself louder, “Holy shit!” And he breaks out into a big, cheesy grin, laughter bubbling up his throat and then he whoops, shouting, “Fuck Alex!”

Mickey laughs at that, his palm meeting Lip's for a high-five and he repeats after Lip, “That's right, man. Fuck Alex!”

Their laughter is short-lived, because Ian interjects, in the most sombre, skeptic tone, asking, “But why would he do that for you?”

“What's that?” Mickey asks, blinking rapidly as he comes down from his momentary high and he shoots a small smile at Ian, who has a worried look on his face.

“I- I don't know what he did exactly, because no one really tells me shit around here,” Ian mumbles, avoiding Mickey's eyes and instead, he fumbles with a loose thread on his shirt. “But I know you and him weren't exactly on good terms, so, why would he help you?”

Mickey's taken aback by the question because he had hoped Ian would just be glad that he got out, and not question the reason behind it. So, he chews on his bottom lip for a while before he says with an obvious uncertainty, “I, um, I don't know, Ian. He just... _did._ ”

“Right,” Ian says curtly, not wanting to say anything else and he looks up at Mickey, who has a deep look on his face that Ian can only comprehend as You okay? So Ian flashes a grin to say I'm fine, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that something was out of place with Ian, but just as Mickey is about to reach for Ian to pull him aside, there's a loud banging on the front door and his hand immediately curls back to his side.

“Jesus, if another Milkovich shows up fresh out of jail, I might pass out,” Fiona jokes, shuffling to the door, and she's still chucking to herself when she pulls open the door, but the laughter ceases when she sees a small woman standing on the porch, black files in hand and a tight smile on her thin lips. Fiona glances at the rest of them for a second before putting on her adult face, turning back to the woman and she asks, “Can I help you?”

The tiny lady straightens up, adjusting her suit and she says, “Is there an Ian Gallagher here, by any chance?”

On instinct, Fiona closes the door a little, as if it would somehow hide the fact that Ian was inside, and she says, “Uh, who's asking?”

“Jean Morris, Social Services,” the woman replies in a very business-like tone that has the hairs on the back of Fiona's neck standing and the fact that she works with Social Services doesn't make it any better.

So, with a cool, steady tone, Fiona says, “What does Social Services want with my brother?”

If Fiona had blinked at that exact moment, she would have missed the distraught look on Morris' face as she says, “Your brother is a minor living without any legal guardians. He's going to have to be taken into foster care.”


	15. You watched Titanic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's not taking the whole foster care thing too well but thank god for Mickey Milkovich

“Your brother is a minor living without any legal guardians. He's going to have to be taken into foster care.”

“He's what?” Fiona repeats, but she had heard Morris loud and clear, and as soon as the words foster care hit her, her tight grip on the door faltered a little, the door swinging wide open to reveal the rest of the family, huddled close together, clinging to each other like their lives depended on it.

“Foster care, Miss Gallagher,” Morris says curtly, then she glances at her files, then back up at the group of children, spotting the redheaded boy immediately and she forces herself to smile at him, saying, “Ian?”

Hesitantly, Ian separates himself from his siblings, shooting a side-glance at Mickey, whose face is a brooding mess already as he shoots daggers into the Social Services woman with his glare, but when he notices Ian looking at him, he musters up a half-assed smile and a quick wink, just to get Ian to keep going and Ian does, finding himself next to Fiona, facing this Morris lady with a blank stare, blinking widely.

“Hi Ian,” Morris says, trying to put on a warm smile but Ian sees right through it, his eyebrows raising. “I'm Jean Morris, I'm your social worker and its come to my attention that you've been living without your parents for over a month now.”

“My parents kinda died, so...” Ian trails off, gulping uncomfortably but he feels Fiona's slender fingers gripping his large hand and his heartbeat settles, but not enough because he still hears the pulsing in his ears.

Morris cleared her throat, putting on a straight face, and she says, “I understand that, but your father appointed Monica Gallagher as your legal guardian, should anything ever happen to him or your mother. So, by right, a few social workers should have arranged for you to be placed with Monica, but your neighbours reported that you went missing a few days after the accident, and we've been trying to locate you ever since.”

The mention of Monica has everyone tense, especially Fiona, and her grip on Ian's hand tightens, and she notices how sweaty his palm is, then she looks up to see beads of sweat dotting his neck, which was more than unusual considering they were out in the cold, then she notices the uneven rise and fall of his chest and she realises what's about to happen.

“I think you should go,” Fiona says quickly, reaching to close the door but Morris holds the door open, giving Fiona a sharp, authoritative look.

“Miss Gallagher, I don't think you understand the seriousness of this,” Morris says sternly, her hand keeping the door wide open.

“What's to understand? Ian's our brother and he's been living with us and everything has been fucking fine,” Fiona snaps, anger bubbling up in her chest.

Morris glances at Ian and he's gone pale, the bruises on his skin showing even more and she gives Fiona a hard stare. “He's a minor and he needs to be under the care of a legal guardian.”

“Legal guardian, my ass!” Fiona shouts, scoffing loudly. “Monica Gallagher hasn't done anything legal since she turned thirteen. I doubt she'd be much help.”

“Ian's father-”

“Ian's father didn't know shit!” Fiona's sudden rage blinds her, making her momentarily forget about the woozy Ian, her hand dropping his to point a sharp-nailed finger at Morris. “All he knew was that they had an affair and she got knocked up, but you don't get to make Ian the victim of that. I've known Monica my entire life and I'm not lying when I say that sending Ian to her is gonna fuck him up even more.”

“Look, I can't be the judge of whether she's a capable guardian or not,” Morris says with a flat tone, her eyes darting from Fiona to the other kids. “But if you think that she should give up her legal rights, then you can fight for custody over Ian. But he's still a minor and while he isn't under the supervision of his guardian, he has to be put into foster care.”

Fiona's outburst had settled and now, all she could do was plea, “Its New Years Eve, do you really want to do this?”

“It doesn't matter what I want, its what the law wants,” Morris replies in a robotic tone, like she's gone through this hundreds of times and she probably has.

“Please,” Fiona says, trying to reason with her. “I just got one kid back, like, five seconds ago and you wanna take away another one? You can't do this.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Gallagher, but I have to,” Morris says with an empty sigh, then she turns to Ian, a small, half-hearted smile on her lips as she says, “Pack your things. I'll pick you up in the morning.”

Then she's gone, leaving Fiona leaning weakly against the doorframe, and the rest of the kids are shuffling uncomfortably because they've been in the system way too many times to know that its not a pot of gold and hearing that Ian had to be sucked in makes them all sombre. But what makes them gasp is the fact that Ian falls to his knees suddenly, his body bending over like its collapsing in on itself and you'd have to be completely deaf not to hear his heavy breathing, like he's trying to suck in all the oxygen in the atmosphere but he can't, and he knows he fucking can't because his mind is too busy picturing himself being shoved into a foster home to tell his lungs to get more air, and his heart is beating so hard against his ribcage that he's surprised his chest hasn't just ripped open, and its cold, _Jesus_ , its fucking cold and he tries to get back his warmth, curling up his body on the carpeted floor, but it doesn't help. He hears the ringing in his ears, he feels the blood rushing to his brain, he tastes the bile rising up in his throat, he sees the bright flashes in his eyes and all he can think about is how he was going to be taken away from the only real family he's ever known and he's not sure what hurts more.

“What the fuck is happening to him?” Mickey's the first to completely recover from the initial shock and his eyes bulge out of their sockets as he watches Ian's body convulse on the ground, his skin turning whiter and whiter by the second.

“Its- He's having a-” Lip stammers, stumbling over his words and he can't seem to speak out a full sentence because he's too focused on his little brother, shaking and shuddering. 

“Its a panic attack,” Fiona manages to choke out, dropping to her knees to lean over Ian, but its hopeless and she just looks up with big eyes, stammering, “I- I don't know what to do. I don't know where his pills are. I don't know how to snap him out of it. I don't wanna hurt him.”

The inner nurse in Veronica clicks suddenly and she waves her hands around her head as she tries to think, and she gasps, exclaiming, “I read somewhere that you can stop a panic attack by holding your breath.”

Fiona's eyebrows furrow at that as she looks between Ian and Veronica, and all she can say is, “How the fuck are we supposed to do that? Put a pillow over his face till he can't breath?”

“Try holding his nose!”

“Cover his mouth!”

“Gag him!”

The hectic shouts and pointless suggestions were all too much for Mickey and he couldn't handle another second of standing there and doing nothing while Ian was practically dying, so with a loud, frustrated grunt, he says, “You're all such fucking idiots.” Then he stalks over to Fiona, not so subtly pushing her aside as he kneels down in front of Ian, reaching down to grab both sides of Ian's face and he pulls Ian up to face him, but Ian's eyelids are fluttering shut and his porcelain skin is freezing, so Mickey puts on a stupid smirk that Ian couldn't see anyway and he says, “Don't go dyin' on me yet, firecrotch.” 

Then he leans in and crashes his chapped lips against Ian's frozen ones, cutting off his air supply, and at first, Ian doesn't respond, his attack still consuming him, but after a few seconds, his heartbeat comes down to a safe rate and his eyes snap open, only to see pretty, dark eyelashes resting on fair cheeks and he feels the massaging sensation on his mouth, so he parts his lips slightly, then there's an immediate response, almost like a reflex, and he tastes the familiar flavour of Mickey's tongue and he can't keep his eyes open anymore because God, he missed the taste of Mickey and he doesn't realise his body goes limp against Mickey's chest and he can feel the other boy's heartbeat and this time, its Mickey who has his heart pounding like a little schoolgirl and it makes Ian laugh, their kiss ending as he drops his head weakly onto Mickey's shoulder, his body recovering from the harsh attack and the moment would have been perfect, if not for the sudden, “Holy fuck!”

Again, the unmistakable voice of Kevin Ball shouts, “Holy fuck!” Followed by a, “I did not see that one coming,” from Veronica, the husband and wife both gaping at the sight of Ian practically on top of Mickey, but the rest are almost speechless, except for Mandy who snickers a little, shooting a dirty wink at the two boys and Fiona just sighs a heavy breath of relief behind them, a small smile on her pretty lips as she takes in the image of her kid brother finally showing the world the truth. Okay, maybe not the _real_ world, but their family was their world and Ian has this bubbly feeling in his chest and his mind tells him that its happiness, freedom, pride even.

Ian's eyes skim over every face in the room as he realises that he's finally out, then his green orbs land on a pair of wide, innocent blue ones, then it hits him that he's out with Mickey and his face scrunches up as he thinks about how this is so not how he had imagined them coming out. For starters, Ian had no intention of being in an attack, one that was brought on by the fear of being placed into the foster system. And for some reason, Ian had always been convinced that he would be the one who outed them, not Mickey. Ian had also anticipated a worse reaction than “holy fuck”, but he wasn't complaining.

Mickey, on the other hand, had no idea what would happen if they ever came out because, honestly, he never intended on doing it. Sure, he could say that his feelings for Ian were strong enough for him to want to come clean, but there was always that little voice in the back of his head telling him not to. He figures that's the voice of his younger self, traumatised after being pistol-whipped for the first time by his father, and for some reason, that was the voice he had always decided to trust, even when Ian's velvety smooth voice was coaxing him into bed. But there was a part of him that always thought about what would happen if they ever were outed and it definitely looked nothing like this. In his head, there was always much more blood and gore and he always ended up dead somehow, usually at the hands of his father. He never expected it to be silent stares and sly smirks, but then again, these were the fucking Gallaghers and you never knew what to expect from them. And for a second, Mickey catches Ian's gaze in the corner of his eye and he's about to smile, but then someone clears their throat and Mickey freezes.

“Mick, uh, you- you, um,” Lip mumbles, stumbling over his words and his grey eyes go back and forth between Mickey on his knees and Ian practically hugging him and he's chewing on his bottom lip uncomfortably, and Mickey sees the familiar glint in his best friend's eyes that he got whenever he felt unease and Mickey knows its because of the kiss and it takes every single nerve in Mickey's body to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Instead, he shoots a sharp glower towards Lip, saying in a snarky Milkovich tone, “If you wanna say something, fucking say it already.”

Then, after a second of hesitation, Lip musters up a warm smile and he says, “You saved his life, Mick.”

And its not the words that Mickey expected so he just stares back at Lip with big eyes, blinking slowly as he tries to process what he just heard and the fact that he looks so fucking lost makes Lip laugh and Lip waves a hand, saying, “Yo, Mickey,” with a click of his fingers and Mickey is pulled back into reality, and he just goes, “Hmm?” Which makes Lip laugh even more and he can't help the exaggerated roll of his eyes when he says, “Thanks for saving my little brother, you idiot. Kissing him to hold his breath, that was, uh, quick thinking.”

“Oh,” Mickey says, nodding at Lip. “Sure.” And he really doesn't know what else to say, because he didn't really decide to lock lips with Ian, he just... _did_. All he knew was that Ian needed to stop breathing for a second to calm himself down and then, he just kissed him. Then he remembers that he and Ian are still on the floor, so he coughs awkwardly, standing up, and he's about to back away but he catches the frown on Ian's face and he snorts, holding out a hand to the guy, who takes it gratefully, letting himself be pulled up and they stand side-by-side, their shoulders brushing against each other's and everyone looks at them with shiny eyes, like its the first time they've ever seen two guys together and it starts to piss Mickey off because he's had people staring at him way too many times in a single night, so he grumbles under his breath, his fingers combing through his hair and with the steadiest tone he can manage, he says, “Look, I'm gay. Ian's gay.  Everyone's fucking gay, so can you idiots stop with your fucking staring already?”

Almost immediately, everyone averts their gaze, shuffling uncomfortably as they clear their throats and train their attention elsewhere, and Mickey grins smugly, muttering, “Thank you.” Then he glances over at Ian and a sudden seriousness settles over him, and his voice turns hard as he says, “Now, can we get to the _real_ problem?”

“Which is what?” Mandy asks, and its probably the dumbest question ever, and she bites down on her tongue when Mickey glares at her, but she just gives him a blank look and a shrug, and he fights the urge to flip her off.

Irritated and tired as hell, Mickey can't help the condescending tilt in his voice when he groans, “Was I the only one listening to that Social Services bitch or what?”

“I was listening,” Ian murmurs, tugging at Mickey's sleeve like a child and even though he was way taller than Mickey, his big puppy eyes made him seem so much smaller and his sweet, boyish voice doesn't help with the butterflies in Mickey's stomach. 

“Yeah, I know you were,” Mickey whispers back to him in a soft voice, his breath hitching in his throat every time Ian's fingers touch his skin instead of his sweater and Ian makes it even worse when he mutters in a depressed tone, “Got a fucking attack because of it.”

To which Mickey responds with, “I know that too. I helped you, remember?”

“You did, yeah, I remember,” Ian replies, nodding repeatedly. “I was just saying-”

“Yeah, I got it, man.”

“Sure, just, you know-”

“Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” is Ian's reply and after that, he does stay silent, but his fingers are still pulling and twisting the fabric of Mickey's clothes like he couldn't let go, so Mickey gives him a quick glance with an arched eyebrow, which makes Ian blush brightly and he mumbles, “Sorry. It helps with the nerves.”

“No, go ahead,” Mickey says, his lips curling up involuntarily as he watches Ian's slender fingers moving in and out of the fraying holes in his sweater and the motion reminds him of the times when Ian stretched him out before they fucked and it makes Mickey shudder, making him realise that they needed to figure this shit out quickly because he couldn't bare another minute of being so close to Ian without ripping his shirt off.

“So, what the fuck are we gonna do about this whole foster care thing?” Mickey asks, aiming his question at everyone and its funny, because for the first time, these people aren't coming up with idiotic ideas that would never actually work. In fact, they weren't coming up with any ideas at all and they're just staring back at Mickey emptily and he's certain its because no one's ever heard him give a shit about anyone other than himself and its probably making them all confused but Ian doesn't have the fucking time for people to be confused because Social Services were coming in the morning to take him away and it was already two hours left to midnight. So, Mickey decides to turn to the one person who would have a clear head in this insane night, asking, “Fiona? Any ideas?”

Sucked back into reality after being hypnotised by the gentle way Mickey spoke to Ian and the sense of loyalty Ian was showing towards Mickey and the unmistakable spark between the two boys that could only be described as pure love, Fiona shakes her head lightly before clearing her throat, saying, “I'm fighting for custody. I don't care what it takes, but there's no way in hell I'm letting that fucking psycho anywhere near Ian.”

“The court let you become the kids' guardian, I'm sure they'd let you take in Ian too,” Veronica adds encouragingly, giving a smile to Ian.

“Okay, so that's settled; Monica doesn't get Ian,” Mickey says, clasping his hands together. “But what about Social Services? We're really gonna let them chuck him into the system?”

“We have no choice, Mickey,” Lip replies, his eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead. “You know how rough those Social Services bitches can get. They'd drag him out by his ears if they had to.”

“He'd probably end up in a group home anyway,” Mandy mutters, looking up at her best friend with a sad smile. “Too young to be on your own, too old to be adopted. Fucking sucks, doesn't it?”

There's a gloomy look on Ian's face as he hears Mandy's words and he can't bring himself to say anything, so Lip saunters over to him, wrapping a strong arm around his shoulders and says in a cheery tone, “But group homes aren't all bad. Easier for us to break you out, right, Mick?”

“We'll be there every night,” Mickey adds, giving Ian's shoulder a light punch, then Mandy annoyingly wedges herself between Mickey and Ian, her skinny arms hugging Ian's waist and she says, “We'll bring booze and pot. The good kind that I'll steal from our big brother's stash.”

“Thanks, guys,” Ian says, and he cracks a smile as his arms wound tightly around his three best friends, his left hand on Mickey's shoulder burning right through Mickey's sweater and Mickey has to hold back the need to yank Mandy out of the way so he could get closer to Ian, but he sees the way Ian's head leans on top of Mandy's, her hair brushing his cheek as her head supports his and he couldn't take that away from him, so he just settles for Ian's hand, a crooked smile lacing his features. Eventually, they all break apart, arms going numb from the long embrace and Ian licks his lips before saying, “So, uh, I'm just gonna head upstairs. That attack kinda took a toll on me.”

“You don't wanna watch the fireworks with me?” Mandy asks because every single year, she watched the New Years fireworks out on the Gallaghers' lawn and it reminds her that those booming noises weren't always gunshots and they could be something much more beautiful.

Ian feels a sting in his heart when he sees Mandy's disappointed face, and he wants to say, ‘Sure, I'll watch the fireworks with you!’ But the words that come out are, “Sorry, Mandy, I'm just not up for any celebrating.”

“That's okay,” Mandy says, forcing a smile and she knows she can't be upset because who could blame him? So that's why she doesn't chase after him when he mumbles a goodnight and disappears up the stairs. But someone else has another idea.

“Yeah, I think its time for me to crash too,” Mickey says smoothly, rubbing his hands together and immediately all eyes turn to him, arched eyebrows aimed at him and he matches them, sneering, “Prison beds are a fucking pain to sleep on, alright? Let me have a good night for once.”

“Okay, have a _good_ night, Mickey,” Kevin says, snickering and Mickey gives him the finger, turning to leave but then Lip grabs his arm to stop him.

“Take my room,” Lip whispers, giving Mickey a nod. “Both of you.”

“You serious?” Mickey asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I don't mind bunking with the kids for the night,” Lip replies, a goofy grin on his face, but then it falters, and he adds in a sharp tone, “Just no fucking, alright? Its sick enough sleeping in a bed where Fiona's had sex a billion times, I don't need to know that my best friend and my brother banged there too.”

“I'll make sure you don't find out then,” Mickey clicks his tongue with a smirk, then he races off to Lip's bedroom, hearing Lip shout, “Oh, come on, Mickey!”

•

Mickey is lying down on Lip's queen-sized bed, his back propped up against a mass of pillows – why did Lip even need that many pillows? – and there's a cloud of smoke circling his face from the lit cigarette, hazing his eyesight, but it doesn't stop him from seeing the flash of red hair in the doorway, but just as fast as it came, it was gone. That was Ian Gallagher. One second he's there for you to hold and touch, then the next thing you know, he's being yanked away from you, leaving you high and dry. Mickey can't count how many times he's almost had Ian in his grasp, only for him to be taken away. Neither can he count the amount of times the redhead walked past the open door of Lip's room, as if trying to drop a hint and before he can disappear from Mickey's sight yet again, Mickey calls, “Hey, Ian?”

“Me?” Ian's head pops up from behind the wall, too eagerly with his sparkling eyes and small grin and Mickey rolls his eyes at the puppy-like boy.

“No, the _other_ Ian,” Mickey scowls, shaking his head and he takes a long drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the windowsill, then he turns back to Ian, going, “Will you just fucking get in here already?”

Like a ballerina or something, Ian tiptoes into the room slowly, cautiously, like if he made the wrong step, the whole room would explode, taking Mickey with it, and he wouldn't have that. He's been separated from Mickey far too many times, as if the universe was working against them, doing everything in its mighty power to pull them apart at any chance of happiness they would ever get. And Ian wonders how many times they would have to be torn apart before Mickey decided that he had enough. Before Mickey decided that Ian wasn't worth the constant back and forth. Then for a second, Ian's almost scared to take another step, his body freezing up and Mickey notices, watching Ian's every move with an arched eyebrow.

“You gettin' in bed or what?” Mickey asks, his hand patting the empty spot beside him that was meant for Ian.

Gulping, Ian says slowly, “You want me to get in bed with you?” And his voice is shaking, like he's afraid to ask the question because he knows how much Mickey hates his stupid fucking questions, but he also knows that no matter how much he hates them, Mickey always answers them.

This time, his answer is, “No, I just want you to fucking stand there and paint me like one of your French girls.” And there's a deep scowl on his face that is unusually attractive and Ian can't help the slow smile that spreads on his face and he knows asking the next question would be like suicide but he asks anyway, “You watched Titanic?”

“Everyone fucking watched Titanic,” is Mickey's reply, annoyance flickering in his eyes and his cheeks flush, blood rushing up his neck. Then Ian begins to laugh, but the pillow flung straight at his face shuts him up, and he groans as he tosses back the pillow to Mickey, who catches it in one hand, hugging it to his chest, a frown on his pale face as Ian slowly crawls up the bed, dropping himself opposite Mickey, his chin in his palm and he gives Mickey a toothy grin, which makes Mickey want to kiss him, but instead, Mickey purses his lips, then flips over so his back is to Ian and he's not sure, but he thinks he hears Ian hold back a giggle. Then he feels Ian's chin digging into the flesh between his shoulder and his neck and he shudders, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Don't do that,” Mickey grumbles, willing himself to move away from Ian and his seducing scent, but he can't seem to tear himself away from the warm touch of Ian's skin.

“Do what?” Ian teases, pushing his chest flat against Mickey's back, his breath tickling Mickey's cheek, making the red tint in it much more obvious.

“You're a fucking dick, Gallagher,” Mickey breathes out, intending to sound gruff but it comes out more like a whine, a needy, desperate noise that makes Ian smirk.

“You missed me, though, didn't you?” Ian asks, his body curling up even more against Mickey's smaller one, his toes poking at Mickey's stockinged foot.

Mickey can only manage a nod because the tickling sensation on his foot makes it hard for him to form any words and Ian laughs, saying, “Did you miss me,” and he wraps an arm around Mickey's torso, “or did you miss _me_?” Emphasising the second ‘me’, Ian grinds his crotch against Mickey's back and he hears Mickey gulp, then mumble, “Both.” 

Then reluctantly, Mickey wiggles around in Ian's hold until he's face-to-face with Ian, and he smiles at the sight of freckles and green eyes and pink lips, and God, Ian just had a beautiful fucking face that he could stare at for endless days at a time and he would never get bored because there would always be something different about Ian's face, whether it was the curve of his lips, or the crinkles of his eyes, or the creases of his forehead, or the colour of his cheeks. Ian's face was a masterpiece, so perfectly arranged, and like every other masterpiece, there was no way in hell you could recreate it. There was only one Ian Gallagher on the face of this Earth and he was Mickey's. Completely and purely Mickey's.

Almost as if he could hear Mickey's thoughts, Ian smiles. But its not because he knew what was going on in Mickey's head — he didn't, he never really did — but he knows there's something turning the gears in Mickey's mind because he notices the familiar way Mickey's eyebrows pull together in the middle of his forehead, his skin wrinkling slightly and the way Mickey's tongue pokes out of the left corner of his lips, his thumb idly rubbing at the opposite corner and the way Mickey's eyes cloud over, his pupils dilating ever so slightly. These were all things that happened whenever Mickey was thinking hard about something, Ian noticed it for the first time when he told Mickey about his panic disorder, and whenever Mickey had something on his mind, they happened like clockwork – the eyebrows, the lips, the eyes. The small things that made Mickey who he was and it was those things that Ian misses the most when they're apart and the thought of being away from him again is enough to make Ian's smile turn into a deep frown and he presses his forehead to Mickey's and lets his eyelids flutter for a second, then he hears Mickey whisper, “You gotta stop doing that, man.”

“Stop doing _what_?” Ian murmurs, no hint of teasing in his voice because this time he means it, he really doesn't know what he's doing.

“Stop being all nice looking and shit,” Mickey shoots back, and Ian knows that's one of the best compliments you'd ever get out of Mickey so he just smiles, and his smile grows wider when Mickey adds, “Its turning me on and we can't fuck tonight.”

“Why not?” Ian asks in an obnoxiously idiotic tone and if he were anyone else, Mickey would've knocked his head off already, but it was Ian, so Mickey just heaves a sigh, muttering, “Lip said no fucking on his bed.”

“Then we'll do it on the floor,” Ian replies, eyebrows wiggling and Mickey just rolls his eyes, twisting his body onto his back and he lets himself sink deeper into the pile of pillows, refusing to look at Ian because he knows that one glance at Ian's pretty face would make him lose control and he had to be the tough one.

Eventually, he hears Ian's deep sigh as he turns onto his back as well, his head plopping against the puffy pillows and he's muttering, “Yeah, alright, fine,” under his breath and he knows that neither of them were in the mood anyway, no matter how much they missed each other, the events of the night made sex seem like a fleck of dust on the massive pile of shit they had to get through and it makes them realise how much shit they've already been through, with cops and fights and other guys, and somehow, they're still here, lying next to each other in silence, but its a nice kind of silent, the kind where they can only hear each other's soft breathing and that's all they need to hear because they just need to know that the other one is there and everything's okay. Ian's being chucked into the foster system and Mickey's going to be alone again, but everything's okay, because right now, Ian's hand finds its way to Mickey's and his fingers are cold, but so are Mickey's and it feels a little like holding chunks of ice, but its enough to make them both feel at ease, then the fireworks start, the bright, colourful flashes drawing their attention to the open window and Ian mutters, “Happy New Year, Mickey.”

And there's a hollow sound in his voice, an empty space that would normally be filled with a scoop of Ian Gallagher's sunshine but that sunshine was far gone and from that point on, with the reflection of fireworks dancing on Ian's skin, Mickey makes it his mission to bring that sunshine back, no matter how long it takes him, and he starts by leaning over and kissing Ian full on the lips, soft and slow, then when he's certain that Ian has a smile on his face, he pulls away and drops his head back into the pillows, and the last thing he says is, “Happy New Year, Ian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 15
> 
> Sooooo, how'd you like it? They're finally out!! Comment and let me know what you think!


	16. Why the fuck are you laughing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its about time that Mickey finds out where Ian is, but Mandy and Lip won't let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, first off, I really hope you like this chapter because I did and I just couldn't stop writing (which is why its a little longer than usual). Secondly, updates might get slow again because I'm heading back to school :/ Third, I'm estimating only one more chapter and an epilogue then that's probably it for this story... So just a little heads up. Enjoy!

The next morning is a blur, everyone hectic and fast-paced to make sure Ian is all set before his social worker shows up. Ian wasn't running around the house to get himself ready because he'd been up much earlier, forcing Mickey to wake up and watch the sunrise with him, to which Mickey had first responded with, “You're moving to another house, not another fucking planet,” and he buried his face into his pillow again, but Ian being Ian, there they were, sitting on the roof as the sun rose in the sky, turning dark to light, and at one point, Ian dozed off with his head Mickey's lap, so Mickey wasn't complaining anymore, although the feeling of Ian's head on his thighs made him feel tingly, he didn't have the heart to push Ian away, so instead, he tugged and tangled his fingers in Ian's ginger hair as he leaned back and felt the morning sun rays on his skin, not that his pale skin would ever tan anyway, but it was the first time in a long time that he was awake at 7 in the morning and with the heavy blanket around his shoulders and the burning cigarette between his lips and the soft snoring of Ian Gallagher, early mornings didn't seem so bad anymore. But eventually, he ran out of cigarettes and the sound of the other inhabitants of the house stirring from their sleep told him that it was time for them to get a move on, so he had nudged and poked and prodded at the other boy repeatedly in the hopes of waking him up, but to no avail. But Mickey didn't blame him. He knew Ian was tired. 

The night before, both of them laid awake till the early hours of the morning, not knowing that the other was still up. Well, Mickey knew. He had been listening to the steady breathing of the boy next to him that elevated ever so slightly whenever Mickey moved an inch. He figured that Ian didn't know Mickey was awake too, because every once in a while, he heard Ian muttering things under his breath, and the first few times, he couldn't make out what those words were, but the fourth time he heard Ian speak, the words that came out were, “Why does he stay? Why does he even bother? I'm a fucking mess.” And the words hit him hard, making him momentarily forget that he was supposed to be asleep, but before he could turn over and answer Ian's question, Ian was the one who moved his body, lying on his side with his face turned away from Mickey, forming a small gap between their two bodies, but it felt like Ian was oceans away and it took Mickey everything he could not to pull Ian back against his body and once he heard light snoring, he willed himself to sleep too.

“Ian, _hey_ ,” Mickey whispers for the hundredth time, poking at Ian's hollow cheek. “Time to wake up, man.” Ian stirs a little, a quiver spreading through his body as his muscles stretch, but then he goes limp again, refusing to open his eyes. For a second, Mickey wants to let him be, just for the pleasure of watching the flutter of his eyelids and the pout of his lips, but then he hears Fiona's voice calling their names and he sighs heavily, shaking Ian's shoulders, saying, “Come on, sleepyhead. Gotta go soon.”

Ian mutters something so softly that Mickey can barely hear it and if he didn't see Ian's lips moving, he wouldn't have noticed that Ian even said anything, so he asks, “What's that, mumbles?”

“Don't wanna go,” Ian whines, curling his body around Mickey's legs. “Don't wanna leave you again.”

Mickey smiles, because Ian's morning voice is gruff and low, but the way he speaks reminds him of a child and the contrast is amusing. But then the words aren't all that amusing, and Mickey doesn't know what to say because he was never the kind of person who offered comforting words, so he does what he does best and he says, “Guess you'll just have to find someone else to fuck.”

And he figures those aren't the words Ian wants to hear, but it works because Ian immediately shoots up, turning to Mickey with a glare that seemed to say Are you kidding me?

“Hey, come on, it was a joke,” Mickey says, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Well, you're not funny,” Ian shoots back, shoving Mickey's shoulder — _hard._

Frowning, Mickey's features soften and his eyebrows knit together, then he grumbles, “Had to get you up somehow.”

“Could've done it nicely,” Ian hisses, his eyes narrowing and his tongue runs along his bottom lip with frustration.

At that, Mickey scowls, his mind flickering back to all the sweet words and the gentle caresses he'd given Ian in the earlier attempts of waking him, and he shouts, “I fucking tried! You're the one who wouldn't get up.”

“Well, I'm sorry for being tired,” Ian snaps back, huffing loudly as he rubs at his red eyes.

“No one asked you to stay up till fuckin' 4AM,” Mickey mutters under his breath, but Ian catches it, eyebrows arching high and Mickey rolls his eyes, saying, “You're not the only one who couldn't sleep.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” is Ian's question and his voice is still, but Mickey can hear the tremble behind the strong front and he knows the real question is ‘Did you hear what I said about you?’

“Dunno,” Mickey replies curtly, his shoulders lifting for a moment before sagging again. “Just didn't.”

Ian doesn't say anything after that, he just crawls back into the room through the foggy open window and the morning chill is getting to Mickey even more, and he knows he should go inside because he doesn't even have any smokes left to keep him warm, but all he does is gather himself and wrap his whole body in the thick blanket, his half-frozen fingers fumbling with his lighter, the bright flame being the only thing he could focus on and he's not sure when exactly it happens, but he knows he'd been out in the cold for quite a while, then he's being dragged in – blanket and lighter and all – by someone's strong arms and the only person in the house with the strength to haul Mickey's entire numbed weight through an old window was Ian, which is why he doesn't fight back, letting himself be pulled through the room until he's dropped onto the bed, more blankets being put around him and a lit cigarette almost shoved into his mouth and even though his body is practically frozen through, he still finds the strength to inhale the burning toxic. He puffs on the stick, the smoke clouding around him, and he sees Ian standing in the doorway, watching him, but he doesn't say anything. 

Eventually, Ian turns to leave and at first, Mickey wants to let him. It was easier that way, wasn't it? Ian said it himself, he was a fucking mess, Mickey knows that. But that's the thing, Mickey knows how fucked up Ian is, but he can't seem to stay away because he's equally as fucked up and he knows that's why he fucking stays, but he can't put them into the words that Ian needs to hear, but he knows he can't let Ian walk away from him again, so before Ian's completely gone from his sight, he calls out, “You leaving now?”

Then there's no response and for a moment, Mickey's afraid that Ian didn't hear him and that Ian was already gone, but then his ears pick up on the soft shuffling and Ian's voice saying, “Not yet.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Mickey tosses the cigarette aside and lights a new one, shoving off the pile of blankets that had started to suffocate him and he says, “C'mere.”

And its such a simple order, and Ian doesn't know why he's so drawn to it, but it makes him feel wanted, _needed_ , so without any hesitation, he finds himself placing himself next to Mickey, far enough to show that he didn't completely forgive Mickey, but close enough to say that he wanted to.

As if he could read Ian's mind, Mickey says, “Sorry.” Then, he gives Ian the cigarette as a peace offering and Ian scoffs lightly before taking the stick, and he figures that's the best apology he's ever gonna get from Mickey so he takes it, muttering a “Yeah, okay” before passing the smoke back to Mickey. The next few minutes are quiet, only the occasional grunt or yawn, because they were both still so fucking tired and Ian begins to think that Mickey dozed off or something, but then as if on cue, Mickey starts speaking, “Get a top bunk, harder for them to mess with you up there and easier for you to stay out of sight. Don't try to get in with the big guys, they've been there for _years_ and they ain't letting a newbie in their clique. Keep to yourself and you should be fine, but if anyone gives you trouble, just tell 'em Mickey Milkovich will be ready to permanently rearrange their faces. But  don't ever mention Lip, everyone hates him and being his brother won't help you out much. God knows the two of us have been to every group home in Chicago more than a couple of times for our names to be remembered.”

Ian listens to Mickey's words carefully and he's nodding the whole time and he wonders whether he should write them down, but then Mickey stops, turning to Ian with a lopsided smile that makes his heart ache.

“You gotta give us a couple of days to figure out which hellhole they sent you to, though, because they ain't telling us,” Mickey says, head dipping. “So, you gotta tough it out those first few days, alright, firecrotch?”

“Do my best,” Ian replies, a small grin on his face and he means it. He doesn't know why, but he couldn't stand the idea of ever letting Mickey down and he knows he has to do everything in his power to make Mickey proud. Then there's a loud knock and a “Ian, time to go!” from downstairs and the two boys share a glance, the unspoken words between them hanging in the atmosphere.

Ian slides off the bed, standing up and dusting off his jeans, and he stands in the doorway for a while, but Mickey doesn't make any indication that he's going to move from his position on the bed, so Ian sucks in a breath and says, “Gotta go, Mick.”

“Yeah,” is Mickey's reply and he nods briefly, not knowing what else to say because he was never big on goodbyes. To him, everyone fucking left at one point or the other and sometimes they came back and even if they didn't, no one would really give a shit, so there was never any reason to say goodbye, so in the end, Mickey settles for, “I'll see ya soon, ginger.”

Against his will, Ian cracks a smile and he knows he expected something a little more, maybe even a kiss because Mickey seemed to do that a lot recently, but he also knows that its Mickey and anything Mickey did would always be more than enough for him, so before he turns and walks away, he says, “See ya.”

Then he makes his way down the stairs, where he sees his black duffel bag lying by the open door and Morris standing outside, all bundled up and he can tell she can't wait to get the fuck out of here, so he doesn't waste his time in going around to say his goodbyes. Kevin and Veronica both give him big hugs, reminding him that they were going to figure it all out. He bends down to give Liam a cuddle, kissing his forehead and Liam just laughs, oblivious to the fact that Ian was leaving. Debbie and Carl tackle him to the ground, squeezing him so hard that he could barely breathe and he promises them that he'd be home soon and he really hopes he can keep that promise. Then Mandy comes over and yanks him up roughly with a strength he didn't know she possessed, only to punch his chest when he's standing upright and he knows she's mad at him for going and if he was being honest, he was sorta mad at himself too, so he just pulls her close and lets her bury her face into his neck for a little while, then he pulls away and presses his lips to her cheek, giving her a small wink. He shuffles over to Lip, who gives him a half-assed grin when he hugs him, patting his back the way guys do to remind themselves that they're men and it almost makes him laugh, but he can't bring himself to. Finally, he turns to Fiona with a sigh, and she pulls his neck down to let his head rest on her shoulder and she whispers, “I'm gonna fix this, I swear to you.” And he believes her, because he believes that Fiona could fix every wrong thing in the world so he just gives her one last squeeze and then he lets go, picking up his bag and he follows Morris out the door, closing it behind him, leaving the only real family he's ever known, but the fact that they're his family reassures him that he's going to be okay as his feet crunch the snow on the pavement, but there's a funny feeling deep in his gut, like he couldn't leave yet. Then, almost like he could sense the haunting presence, Ian halts for a second, twisting his neck to look up at the window facing the lawn, and he can't help the smile that crosses his face when he sees Mickey standing there, looking down at him, cigarette in hand, dashing smirk on his dark features and then, Mickey gives him a salute, his fingers waving Ian off, as if saying You can go now, and Ian dips his head in a nod, a smug smile on his face as he turns away, walking to the car with a noticeable swagger that makes Mickey laugh to himself in the empty room, because he fucking knows Ian knows he's staring at the damn guy's ass and he tosses the smoke out of the window and holds his finger up high when Ian glances at him for the last time through the car window and seeing Ian laugh back is enough to make Mickey feel like he's not so alone after all.

•

“Are we going yet?”

And its the hundredth time Mickey's asked the question since he found out which group home Ian was placed in — four and a half days after Ian was taken away — and the entire time, Mickey had been beating himself up about how he could've taught Ian more about how to take care of himself in the shithole and he had a constant headache thinking about whether Ian was fine, or even alive, for that matter. So, who could blame him for being so desperate to get to Ian when they already knew where he was, yet neither Lip nor Mandy allowed him to go?

“Not yet,” Mandy hisses, and she's seconds away from ripping Mickey's throat out just to shut him up because he's been asking the same damn question over and over, and she's been giving him the same damn answer because there really was no other answer, and she sees his mouth open again, knowing that he was about to ask again, but before she could bash his face in, Lip puts an arm around Mickey's shoulders and steers him away from the fuming Mandy.

“Look, Mick, even if we went now, the guards would be patrolling or some shit,” Lip explains, trying to reason with the angry boy. “You know the routine. We gotta wait till lights out.”

“Yeah, but its already 11!” Mickey cries, letting his shoulders sag and he frowns. “By the time we get there, the lights would be fucking out, yeah?”

“What's your deal, man?” Lip asks, laughing at how Mickey was practically begging to go and Lip's never seen Mickey beg for anything.

“What's _yours_?” Mickey shoots back, a venomous scowl on his face as he shoves Lip away roughly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ian could be dying over there and you're still here trying to decide whether we should go or not.”

“I do think we should fucking go, I just don't think that now's the time,” Lip says, shrugging his shoulders lightly, but Mickey's cold stare makes him sigh, adding, “Plus, you really think Ian's doing that bad in there? He's a tough kid, you know.”

“Yeah, well, there are a lot of tough kids in this fucking world,” Mickey grumbles, kicking at a large stone. They'd been standing in the park for over an hour after Lip and Mandy called him to meet them because they'd found out where Ian was and for the most part, they'd just been smoking and drinking and going back and forth about when they were going to see Ian instead of actually going to the damn place, and Mickey decides that he's had enough of the arguing and finally, tossing aside the can of beer he was drinking, he says, “Fuck you both, I'm going to see him. Come if you want, or don't. I don't fucking care.”

“Hey! Mickey, don't!” Lip calls after him, but he just gives Lip the finger and Lip turns to Mandy with a frustrated expression, and Mandy's about to hurtle her boot at Mickey's head, but she doesn't get the chance to, because something else hits Mickey right in the face.

And much to Mickey's surprise, its Ian Gallagher. But he doesn't see that right away because his face literally smacks into the guy's body and his immediate response is, “What the fuck? Watch where you're fucking going! Fucking-”

“Ey, easy, tiger,” Ian says in a strong voice, pushing Mickey off so that he can Ian's face and watching Mickey's face go from pissed to confused to happy makes Ian laugh, his chest rumbling as he gives a silent thanks to Lip and Mandy, who grin at him in return.

“Shit, _Ian?_ ” is what Mickey says, and his face is twisting back into that confused state, eyes going wide, jaw slacking.

“Good to see you too, Mick,” Ian replies, rolling his pretty eyes and its almost as if Mickey thought he wasn't really there, Mickey's hand reaching out to touch his face and his eyebrows arch as he stands there awkwardly, letting Mickey stroke his face to reassure him that he was actually there.

“Told you he was bad at surprises,” Mandy says suddenly, appearing at Ian's side, then so does Lip, and they've both got devious grins on their faces that told Mickey they weren't all that shocked to see Ian here and his eyes narrow at the three people, a scowl twisting his lips and he asks, “You knew he was coming?”

“Why do you think we wouldn't let you go, jackass?” Mandy says, rolling her eyes with a smirk that Mickey wants to slap right off her face.

“Well, how'd you know he was coming?” Mickey asks, a dumbfounded look on his face. Then he looks at Ian, “How'd you know we'd be here? What the fuck is going on?”

Putting on a sugary smile, Mandy's hands twist around before she says, “We sorta found out where Ian was on the day that he left.”

“How'd you do that?” Mickey gapes at her and Lip, cursing them silently because they could've saved him the trouble of scouting out every other group home in Chicago with the hopes of finding Ian, only to be let down every single time.

Lip raises his hand, as if wanting to answer the question and Mickey eyes him expectantly, then he says, “I tracked the car. Wasn't that hard.”

“And you waited almost five days to tell me?” Mickey yells, his voice full of rage as he throws a sharp glare at them. “You motherfu-”

“Wha- Hey, Ian's idea!” Lip retorts, pointing a blaming finger at Ian.

“Yeah, because Ian always comes up with brilliant ideas,” Mickey snaps, ignoring the fact that Ian's jaw practically drops as if offended, then with a smug look, he asks, “So, genius, wanna fucking explain yourself?”

Ian's mouth opens and shuts several times, trying to find the words to say and eventually, he settles for, “I wanted to surprise you! Mandy said you didn't like surprises-”

“I fucking hate surprises,” Mickey interrupts, a cold stare on his pale face.

But Ian just grins, the kind of grin he knew would win Mickey's heart over, and he asks, “But you liked _this_ surprise, didn't you?”

“Fuck off,” is Mickey's reply, but the stupid smile on his face gives him away and Ian knows what he actually means is Yeah, I fucking loved it, so Ian laughs, leaning forward to pull Mickey into a hug, his hands clasping behind Mickey's neck, like that's the only place his hands belong and Mickey's arms snake around Ian's waist, locking together right above his ass, and he fights the urge to bring his hands lower.

Clearing his throat, Lip smirks when the two jump apart at his teasing, “You kids done?”

To which Mickey replies with, “I'm older than you, shithead.”

Lip snorts, his hand coming up to thwack Mickey's head, saying, “By a fucking month.”

Waving Lip off, Mickey focuses his attention to Ian, his eyes roaming over every inch of Ian, making sure there isn't a single thing out of place and he's quite content with the fact that there are no bruises on him – well, visible ones anyway – and he grins, then his face falters for a moment when he asks, “How the fuck did you get out on your own?”

“And what took you so long?” Lip adds, nudging Ian's side. “Mickey was practically dying over here.”

Ian laughs at that, smirking at Mickey, then he says, “Well, my second night in there, Lip and Mandy busted me out, showed me the ropes on how to get out, so I just went the same way that I did the other night.”

Mickey's eyebrows raise and he doesn't know whether to be pissed that Mandy and Lip got to see Ian first or to be proud that Ian was doing pretty well on his own.

Ian continues, clearing his throat, “And I'm late because I got held up when I tried to get out on Lip's name.”

“Christ, Ian, I told you to never mention Lip!” Mickey groans, shooting a dirty look at Ian for not listening to him.

“Why the hell did you tell him that?” Lip asks, his voice raised and he's glaring at Mickey.

“Because you kinda have this habit of pissing people off and nobody fucking likes you,” Mickey snaps, the familiar scowl back into its usual place.

“Oh, right, 'cause everyone fucking likes-” Lip starts, but he's cut off when Ian puts a steady hand on his chest and gives Mickey a hard look.

“The important thing is, I'm out now,” Ian says, nodding at both boys. “So let's have a good time because I don't know when I can get out again.”

“You know you can get out for work, right?” Lip says, eyebrows arched. “They'll let you out if you have a job.”

“Yeah, but I don't,” is Ian's reply, a guilty tone to his voice.

“Yeah, you do,” Lip says back, eyebrows pulling together in the middle of his forehead.

“I _had_ a job,” Ian says, huffing a little. “But I quit.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Lip asks, jaw dropping and he can't believe Ian gave up what could possibly the best job in all of Southside because you literally didn't have to do anything and you'd get paid, and he just blew his chances of getting out more.

“Because Kash fucking kissed me!” Ian exclaims, a low grumble in his voice as he says it and there's a sudden dark look on his face as he recalls the incident.

Lip stares at him blankly, blinking his eyes because he can't seem to understand Ian's words and there's no fucking way, so he says, “Kash, the married, Muslim, father of three, kissed you?”

“What, you don't believe me?” Ian cries, scoffing loudly at how Lip is trying to make this seem like it was his fault. “Ask Mickey, he was there!”

“You were there?” Lip suddenly whirls on Mickey, a sharp look on his face.

“Well, yeah, I was going to hang out with Ian-”

“And what'd you fucking do about Kash?” Lip interrupts, seconds away from choking Mickey.

Mickey's thumb rubs at his bottom lip in frustration, because he hated it when people interrupted him and he tries to contain his anger when he says, “I gave him a fucking sucker punch and a friendly reminder to keep him in check. Keep talking, Lip, and I might have to give you one too.”

Unfazed by Mickey's empty threats – they wore out after hearing them for the first couple of years – Lip just scoffs, about to jump into a rant about how Mickey didn't have to be an asshole about everything all the fucking time, but he doesn't get the chance because this time, its Mandy who wedges herself between the boys before any fist fighting began and despite being the youngest of the four, sometimes it was as though she was the only one with a mature mind, and Ian decides its because she's been taking care of herself and the people around her for years, and perhaps its because she's a girl – girls always seemed to be better at the whole handling bad situations thing, he noticed – so he throws a grateful look her way, thanking her silently because no matter how hot Mickey looked whenever he fought, there was no doubt that Mickey would win and Ian couldn't let that happen to Lip.

Mandy doesn't offer any consoling words to either of them, neither does she try to make them apologise, because she knows her brother and she knows Lip, and both their egos were too fucking big for them to admit that they were both tools, and she wonders if that's why their friendship worked. Instead, she just says, “I thought we came here to get high.” And she's serious, because she went through a lot of shit just to get the weed and a hell of a lot more to stop herself from smoking it all on her own.

An unspoken agreement passed between them and soon, they were all lying on their backs, a lit joint being passed between the four, empty cans of beer scattered around them, and Mickey's head is a little closer to Ian's than necessary, and even though he has a fuck load of marijuana in his system and his eyes are so glassy that Ian laughs when he sees his own reflection in them, Mickey doesn't miss the fact that Mandy's leg is draped over Lip's and ever so often, she leans in a little too close to him when she laughs and Lip doesn't make any move to stop her. Mickey isn't surprised, for some reason. He always knew that Lip was attracted to Mandy, in a twisted sort of way, because Lip had always said that he saw her as a sister of his own, but it was hard for Lip not to feel anything for Mandy, especially when she was constantly prancing around his house in booty shorts and tops that barely counted as tops, and she had this habit of clinging to you when she was asleep and Lip's experienced it firsthand one too many times after their occasional movie marathons because she's the only one who'd actually manage to get through some sci-fi movie that everyone else thought was crap, and the first couple of times it happened, Lip thought that maybe Mandy had liked him, but then the next morning she'd be the usual bitch she was and went off to fuck some guy she was way too good for and Lip dismissed the idea, but he never really stopped watching the way her hips swayed when she walked or the way she tugged at her nose ring whenever she felt irritated or the way she always looked so broken, yet so beautiful, whenever she showed up at their doorstep at 2 in the morning, bruised face and all. Lip thought that maybe he loved Mandy and Mandy thought that she loved all those guys that she slept with every other night.

Mickey thought they were both stupid. Stupid because they were both too blind to see what they really wanted and Lip, even with his insane IQ level, thought that he was fooling anyone whenever he called Mandy out for being a slut when really, it was only Mandy who couldn't see the jealous glint in his all-knowing eyes, and Mickey wonders how long its gonna take for the truth to smack them both in the face. That's why Mickey doesn't say anything, doesn't even react actually, when Lip eventually gets up, stumbling a little as he lets out a small giggle-like laugh before he says, “We're gonna get going. Its late and you two,” he wiggles a finger at Mickey and Ian, “look like you could use some time alone.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, pushing himself up and his fingers brush Mickey's hand and they leave a burning sensation on Mickey's cold skin, so Mickey takes another long drag of the joint, trying to push down the need to pull Ian back down to him. He watches as Ian pulls Lip into a hug, laughing way too loudly at something Lip had said and his lips involuntarily curl into a smile as he sees a small patch of pale skin when Ian's shirt rides up a little, then he's snapped out of his creepy trance when Mandy elbows his ribcage and he hadn't noticed that she was still lying on the grass, and she tiredly drops her head onto him, her chin on his shoulder and she looks up at him through her long eyelashes, and he doesn't even try to push her off because right then, she looks way younger than she is and he can't find the heart to do anything that would hurt his little sister in the slightest, so he just stares back at her, offering a sweet smile.

“He loves you, you know?” she says, her words slurring a little but Mickey can hear them, loud and clear, and he doesn't know why its suddenly hot, even when he was practically lying in a thick layer of snow, and he feels blood rise to his cheek and he's glad that its too dark and she's too wasted to notice that he's as red as a tomato.

Mickey ignores the fact that his stomach is doing all kinds of funny flips and he forces down the stupid smile on his face, the kind of smile Ian would say was cute, and Mickey hates being fucking cute, so he fakes a scowl, saying, “The fuck do you know about love?”

“Not much, but I know that you feel it for him too,” Mandy mutters, then she yawns loudly, patting his chest as her way of saying goodnight, then she stumbles over to Lip, tripping over her own feet a couple of times, and Lip catches her, his arm finding its way around her waist and she screams a little, laughing and punching his arm when he squeezes her side, and she turns back for a second to wave, then she practically falls onto him, letting her small body be dragged away from the empty park.

Ian sighs as he watches Lip and Mandy walk away, getting further and further until eventually, they're too far out of sight and he falls back to the ground, deliberately dropping his body closer to Mickey than it was before, their hips touching, their heads lined up side-by-side, and Mickey hums a slow tune, not making any indication that he minded Ian being so close, so Ian shuffles closer, so much that his shoulder is practically on top of Mickey's, but Mickey just smirks, stretching out his body so that his arm falls onto Ian's chest, and he lets it rest there, finding the rise and fall of Ian's chest just as comforting as the steady beating of his heart.

Its almost perfect, the two of them lying there, all doped up and drunk, like they're the only two people in the world, and it really feels like they are, because all around them, its quiet, except for the occasional barking of a dog at a burglar or the speeding of car trying to get out of this part of town before they were murdered by gang members or the blaring sirens of police cars chasing down a bunch of fuck-ups. Then there's Ian; the soft breathing, the occasional hiccup, the low chuckle that comes from deep in his throat when his fingers idly run over the tattooed letters on Mickey's knuckles and Mickey's eyes flutter at the feeling of Ian's rough fingers on his skin, goosebumps rising and he can finally feel the marijuana working its way through him, relaxing his mind.

Then, as if on cue, Ian decides to ruin Mickey's high by asking, “Are you ever gonna tell me what really happened with Alex Carver?”

Mickey knows that Ian felt him tense up, so he quickly forces his muscles to contract, his arm going limp on top of Ian and he knows how irritatingly honest Ian could get when he was drunk so Mickey figures its only fair if he does the same, saying, “You really wanna know?” 

Ian nods. 

Then, Mickey sighs, about to sit up, then Ian's arm darts up, stopping Mickey from moving and there's an alarming look in his eyes as he says, “Don't go. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

That makes Mickey laugh and he can't help the roll of his eyes, a teasing tone to his voice when he says, “ _Relax_ , ginger. I just need a fucking drink before I get into shit as dark as this.” And he waves the can of beer in front of Ian's blushing face before taking a long swig, hurling the can far away when he's drained all of the warm liquid, muttering, “Tastes like piss.” Then he slides back down, propping himself up on his elbow, his chin in his palm as he gazes down at Ian, glassy eyes and flushed cheeks and Mickey can't help but think goddamn, Gallagher, but he knows that Ian's waiting for his story, so he lets out a long breath, then, “So, Alex...”

•

“We were his best friends, you know?” Mickey mutters, and by now, he's almost breathless, a dark look in his eyes that even Ian has never seen. “I know Lip's still kinda hung up on him, fuck knows why, but I just can't fucking look at him anymore.”

“Did you ever like him?” is what Ian asks and he's scared that Mickey might get up and leave suddenly, because he knows its a pretty stupid question, even for him, but to his surprise, Mickey just shrugs, saying, “Maybe. Wasn't so sure what I felt back then.”

And maybe its the drugs or the alcohol that's making him finally open up, but Ian likes it and he knows he shouldn't take advantage of it, but he does, and he asks, “Are you sure now?”

At first, Mickey doesn't say anything, he just breathes slowly, then he gets up, shaking off the snow on his back and he turns to Ian, who's looking up at him with his usual puppy face and he holds out his hand, saying, “C'mon, I wanna take you somewhere.”

And Ian knows that doesn't answer his question, but the idea of Mickey taking him somewhere, the hopes of it being someplace special, is way too good for Ian to pass up, so he grabs Mickey's cold hand, letting himself be yanked up and they don't bother cleaning up the empty cans or the burnt out joints, they just walk.

They walk and walk and its nice. Ian shoving Mickey's shoulder when Mickey doesn't let him share his cigarette, Mickey whining, “I'm fucking cold, get your own!”, Ian snatching the burning stick right from Mickey's mouth, Mickey trying to strangle Ian but he just ends up kissing him, the taste of smoke and beer and marijuana and Ian all mixed up in one fucking kiss that makes Mickey's knees buckle slightly. Finally, four and a half kisses – Ian had to stop the last one to puke his guts out because he couldn't really hold his alcohol as well as Mickey could yet – and half a pack of smokes later, Mickey finally swings himself over the fence of the baseball field like he's done it hundreds of times and he has, and Ian easily climbs over, dusting his ass off when he lands, smirking when he sees Mickey's eyes lingering on it.

Mickey's not sure how long they run around the field, throwing baseballs at each other and even though Ian's thrown up almost everything in his body, he's still a little wasted and he laughs loudly when Mickey trips over one of the bleachers, landing on his back with a groan, his eyes screwing shut in hopes of mellowing down his already throbbing head. Then there's a familiar weight on him, Ian's legs straddling his hips like he fit perfectly there and there only. Mickey doesn't hesitate when he moves his hands to Ian's hips, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into his hipbones and his eyes widen when Ian suddenly grabs the front of his shirt and presses their lips together, his tongue plunging into Mickey's mouth and Mickey moans a little when Ian starts to grind his crotch onto Mickey, but before Ian can go any further, Mickey pushes him off, breathing heavily as he tries to regain his composure.

“What the fuck, Mick?” Ian groans, a whining sound emitting from his throat.

“We can't,” Mickey says, trying to slide out from under Ian, but Ian won't let him, the hard look on his face pressing Mickey to continue. “If you go back to that place smelling like sex then you, my friend, are fucked. I'm just lookin' out for you, man.”

“Your friend?” Ian repeats, making a scoffing noise. “Is that what I am?”

Mickey's eyes flicker with irritation. “What, you saying we're not friends?”

Sighing, Ian mutters, “No, 'course we are.” Then, quietly, he adds, “I just thought we were more than friends.”

“Are we seriously fucking talking about this right now?” Mickey grumbles, shooting up again because he could handle all levels of fucked up, but he couldn't deal with this sappy bullshit.

But Ian slams his back down, not caring that Mickey's head practically cracks against the hard ground and this time, he keeps his hand on Mickey's chest to make sure he doesn't try to move again. “Yes, we're fucking talking about this right now.”

“Jesus,” Mickey blows out through his lips. “Never thought I'd ever be having this conversation-”

“With a guy?” Ian asks, a funny tone to his voice as he tilts his head at Mickey.

Mickey scowls, tearing his gaze away from Ian's pretty green eyes, shouting, “With anyone!”

“What, you've never been in a relationship before?” Ian snorts, ducking his head even more to recapture Mickey's gaze.

“No,” Mickey answers matter-of-factly, as if its the most obvious thing in the world. “What, is that wrong?”

“Well, no, but-” Ian starts, but he doesn't finish because he cracks up, bursting into a bubbly laughter that would make someone want to run around and throw rainbows at people.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and giving Ian a dirty look, Mickey snarls, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

Rolling his lips in to suppress his laughter, Ian manages to choke out, “Its cute,” before falling into stupid giggles again.

Mickey grinds his teeth, holding back the urge to force Ian to take back the word, he just sneers, “Yeah, I'm fuckin' adorable.” That just makes Ian laugh even more, and Mickey reaches up to shove his shoulder, frowning and muttering a weak, “Fuck off.”

Calming down, Ian lets out a shaky breath, then he presses both his hands to Mickey's chest, leaning down so that his face is hovering right above Mickey's face, but Mickey won't look at him, so he starts trailing soft kisses along Mickey's jaw, his lips brushing the slight layer of stubble on Mickey's chin and he knows its working, because he feels Mickey's muscles tense underneath him. When he reaches Mickey's mouth, he lets his lips lightly brush Mickey's but he doesn't kiss him, he just mumbles, “I'm sorry.” Then, before Mickey can react, he moves to the other side of Mickey's face, trailing small kisses just like he did before and eventually, he gets to Mickey's ear, and he lets his lips linger there for a while, his breath making goosebumps dot Mickey's skin and again, he whispers, “I'm sorry.” But Mickey still doesn't say anything, he just lets out a low grumble that makes his chest vibrate under Ian's hands. So Ian smirks, then runs his tongue – slowly and surely – along the side of Mickey's neck until his face is nuzzled into the base of his throat and without any warning, he sinks his teeth into Mickey's skin, making Mickey gasp loudly, and he begins to suck on the red spot to ease the sore skin, and between licks, Ian says, “I'm sorry.” And finally, Mickey lets out a choking sort of noise, followed by a weak “Uh-huh” and Ian isn't surprised that its not the sweet kisses or hot whispers that make Mickey crack, but the biting and bruising, because that's exactly who Mickey is and Ian wants nothing else.

They don't know when exactly they decide to fall asleep, but they know its late and they're fucking tired, so Ian climbs off Mickey and instead moves to his side, where he buries his head between Mickey's neck and his shoulder, and his hand somehow finds the bruise on Mickey's neck, his thumb massaging it lightly and its the best feeling in the world, so Mickey keeps a firm hand on Ian's hip, his tight grip making it seem as though he didn't want to let go because really, he didn't, then he lets his head fall onto Ian's, his nose buried deep in the red hair and he falls asleep inhaling Ian's sweet scent and he wishes he could fall asleep to that every night. Mickey doesn't know that Ian's thinking the exact same thing about the strong smell of cigarettes on Mickey and he doesn't know if its his own doing or if its the drugs fucking up his brain, but he hears himself mumble, “You know you're mine, right?” And its definitely the drugs, because he thinks he hears Mickey say, “I know. I'm yours.”

•

When they wake up, its just before dawn and Ian yawns loudly, trying to curl his body around Mickey's again, but Mickey tells him that he has to get back to the home before he gets caught and it takes a while, but he manages to drag Ian out of the baseball field, the both of them stumbling over their own feet as their heads pound and their eyes sting, but they share one last cigarette while Mickey walks him to the old building, and Mickey doesn't kiss him, or hug him, or say goodbye. He just says, “You gotta get out quick.” And Ian knows that's Mickey's way of saying _Come_ _home_ _soon_ , so he just smiles, nodding his head in a promise and he doesn't even mind that Mickey stays on the opposite side of the road as he jogs up to the side of the building, because this time, Mickey actually waves at him and he gives Ian a heart-stopping smile, and Ian has to throw himself through the small entrance because he can't look at Mickey anymore without being able to touch him and when he slides back into his creaky bunk, he finds himself smiling at the ceiling because fuck, Mickey Milkovich is his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some words! :)


	17. Babe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I'M SORRY I LOVE YOU ALL
> 
> Well, this is obviously much later than expected and yes, you can be mad at me, I deserve it :( I just really, really had a hard time getting this chapter done. But well, its the last one and I had to get my shit together and finish it for all of you! If you're still reading this, I'm SO sorry for the long wait but thank you for sticking with the story and I really hope you enjoy this last bit. Again, I'm sorry and enjoy! Xx

Ian's sitting at the end of the bench, his fingers unconsciously tugging at the loose strands of his sweater and even though Mandy's arm is curled around the crook of his elbow, he can't help but feel detached from everyone, from everything. Fiona's been going back and forth with the court, trying to win custody over Ian. It would've been easier if Fiona could just fake the signature and pretend that Monica had signed off her rights to her like she did when fighting for custody of the other kids, but Social Services had insisted on tracking down Monica and bringing her down to the court and calling it a disaster would be an understatement.

For starters, Monica was doped up on all kinds of drugs and she couldn't even remember that she had another child and that instantly made Ian feel sick. Knowing that she gave him up in the first place was a little upsetting, but as soon as he met the monster, he couldn't help the rush of relief that flooded his body. He would've been a mess if he had been raised by her and he wondered how someone as amazing as Fiona could possibly have been brought up by her, but then again, Fiona practically raised herself and the rest of the family, while Monica did fuck knows for her children. 

“You do look a little like me,” she said in her insanely irritating voice, reaching out to touch Ian's face, only for Ian to take a step away from her, refusing to let himself be touched by this woman who claimed to be his mother.

Ian didn't say anything, even if the resemblance was clearly there, he just tightened his jaw and deepened his scowl, a very Mickey Milkovich move, a voice in his head commented and it was that voice that kept him latched onto reality.

“Your Honour, we may have only been with Ian for a couple of months,” he hears Fiona's voice saying and he shifts his gaze to his older sister. “But that's a hell of a lot more than Monica has. If Social Services hadn't dragged her all the way down here, do you really think she would've bothered looking for him? Sure, we didn't look for him either, but that's because she didn't give us the chance to know that he even existed. But we know now and we want him to be a part of our family.”

Monica is staring blankly at Fiona, her mouth gaping as if she wants to say something, but before she can, Fiona puts on that face that Ian recognises, the face no one could ever say no to, and she says, “Maybe you don't know her, but I know my mother very well and I know that if you decide to leave Ian in her care, he might as well just off himself now because she's the worst thing that could ever happen to him. And maybe we're not exactly the most functional family ever, but we're working out alright and Ian belongs with us.”

Ian's watched enough tv to know that courts always favoured the wailing parent who regret their decision to give up their child and want to make up for all the wasted years, and while Monica definitely had the wailing part nailed, he could tell from the emotionless look in her glassy eyes that she didn't give a shit about him, and Ian's watched enough arguments to know that Fiona was about to win another one and he couldn't help but smirk as the judge sighs, giving one last glance at Monica before training her eyes onto Fiona while plastering on a tight smile, saying, “Fiona Gallagher, I appoint you as the legal guardian of Ian Clayton Gallagher. Now, take your brother home.”

Then the shrieking starts and Ian is bombarded with hugs, strong arms, short arms, skinny arms are all suffocating him and while his heart feels full at how much love is being thrown at him, the only pair of arms he wants to be in aren't there and he can't help the momentary falter of his smile and even though it was probably less than a split second, Mandy notices it and he wonders if anything gets past her and she gives him a small smile as if saying _Not really_ , and she says, “I think its time we get home. Courts make me feel stuffy.”

“Hell yeah,” Lip agrees, then they're all practically running through the halls of the courthouse, eager to get back to the South Side where they didn't have people look at them funny or have to wear nice clothes that made them look somewhat presentable for the court, but for the most part, they all just wanted to get away from Monica, who had decided to put on a waterworks show after ‘losing’ her son, when really, she never had him in the first place and Jesus, Ian was thankful for that.

Funnily enough, running like fools to catch the L, barely making it onto the train and bending over to catch their breaths is what makes Ian feel most at home and he knows that there's nowhere else in the world that he'd rather be than with the people he can finally call his real family.

But as he straightens up and looks around at all the smiling faces, the pretty boy with the shit-eating grin isn't there and the empty space in his gut grows bigger.

•

Mickey's pacing around the living room, chain smoking a pack of smokes and he's almost done with it, and they're still not home. A million different things pass through his brain, like, what if Fiona didn't manage to win over the court? What if Ian was being handed over to Monica? What if Fiona did win, but they got caught in accident on the way home? What if–

“I think that ashtray is getting kinda full,” a voice says, and Mickey almost freezes at the sweet sound of it, slowly turning to face him. 

And Mickey can't help the stupid grin that stretches across his face when he sees Ian, bag slung over his shoulder, hair longer than the last time he saw the guy, and when he looked closely, he could tell that a light stubble had grown on the bottom half of Ian's face and _goddamn_ , he couldn't wait to get his hands on it.

“So, you just gonna stand there or–”

Ian doesn't get to finish because Mickey walks right up to him and despite their height difference – was it possible that Ian grew taller? – Mickey still manages to shoves Ian's shoulders, growling, “Took you long enough, firecrotch.” Then he breaks out into that wide smile again, embracing Ian and Ian's bag drops off his shoulder as he wounds his arms around Mickey, mumbling, “I missed you too, Mick.”

They clear their throats and pull away, the dumb smirk still lingering on Mickey's lips as the rest of the family starts piling into the house, all shivering from the snow outside. They all try to hide their smiles when they walk past the two boys, except Lip, who pats them both on the back, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Mickey flips him off, but sighs happily as he turns to the redheaded boy, then he asks, “Wanna take a walk? This house is suffocating me.”

Ian scoffs, eyebrows raised as he says, “I just fucking got here.”

Mickey doesn't say anything, he just pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a daring step closer to Ian's body, then his hands slip underneath Ian's sweater, and Ian gulps as Mickey's fingers – still warm from the burning cigarettes – start running up and down his torso, tracing the curves of his abs, pressing into his tingling skin.

Ian's breath hitches in his throat as Mickey's fingers go lower, dipping into the waistband of his jeans and he manages to breathe out, “You know what, a walk sounds good. It is pretty warm in here.”

Ian practically yanks Mickey's hands from his pants before they could go any deeper because he prefers it if his family didn't hear the noises that he makes when Mickey touches him. Instead of letting go, Ian keeps a firm grip on Mickey's wrist and Mickey lets him, his grin faltering slightly as he unlatches from Ian for the torturing three seconds it took them to shrug on their jackets, but his lips quirk up again when he feels Ian lace his fingers with his own, a feeling that was more than familiar to him now.

Mickey allows Ian to drag him out of the shabby house, onto the snowy street and Ian makes a quick turn, not exactly sure where he's heading, because he hasn't been around here in a while and Mickey watches him with amusement as he gets his bearings, shushing Mickey every time he attempts to help Ian find his way and he just laughs every time Ian ends up leading them to a dead end of an alley and after one too many wrong turns, Ian huffs in annoyance, letting Mickey do the navigating and Mickey mutters a snarky, “Finally, Gallagher,” as he drops Ian's hand and instead, he curls his arm around Ian's waist and not so subtly, shoves his hand into Ian's jacket pocket, indirectly pulling Ian closer to his body so that they're joined at the hip.

Mickey throws a scowl at Ian's raised eyebrow, and he mutters, “My hand's fucking cold, alright?”

Ian's eyebrow arches higher, slowly disappearing under the loose strands of fiery hair that were covering his pale forehead and he just shrugs, then says, “Shoulda worn gloves then.”

Mickey frowns, his jaw tensing visibly and his arm slowly begins to recoil from his embrace around Ian as he says, “If you don't like it-”

Mickey doesn't get to finish his sentence because his arm is being pulled back around Ian and then his back is slammed against a brick wall, and he feels Ian's hands make their way into the back pockets of his jeans, the large hands cupping his ass firmly, and his arm is wound around Ian's back so he's hugging Ian's body to his chest, and Ian takes advantage of his height, looming over Mickey with that devilish grin of his and he slots his thigh between Mickey's legs, then he leans down, his face almost touching Mickey's, and he whispers, “I like it.”

Mickey gulps as he tries to hide the blood rushing to his face and to _that_ part of his body, but with Ian's face practically hovering over his and Ian's thigh pressed up against his crotch, there's no way he can hide either of them, so he shifts his gaze from Ian's pink lips to the crumbling building behind them and he chokes out, “We're here.”

Rolling his pretty green eyes as if to say Way to ruin the moment, Mick, Ian sighs, but backs off of Mickey, then offers a hand to the dark-haired boy who was practically smushed up against the wall, pulling him upright. Then, Mickey takes a couple of long breathes to recompose himself, but the whole yoga-breathing shit isn't working for him, because he still hears ringing in his ears and he feels constricted in his jeans, so he does what he does best and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, shoving a stick between his cold lips, lighting up the smoke and his cheeks hollow as he inhales, and Ian watches him, noting that he'd have to look out for the way Mickey hollows out his cheeks during the next time Mickey sucks him off, but his train of thought is cut off when Mickey shouts, “You done checkin' me out, firecrotch?”

Ian just grins back at him, not even bothering to deny the fact that he was, in fact, practically undressing Mickey with his eyes and he doesn't say anything, he just turns to the building that was falling apart, and as he hoists himself up onto a concrete ledge, Mickey can't help but stare at the way his arms tense up, his biceps visible even underneath his jacket, then he swings his legs over, pulling them up as he stands up, stretching those goddamn arms out as he tries to balance himself on the ledge, teetering dangerously to the edge as he walks across the narrow space, and Mickey's eyes are glued onto him, and he doesn't notice how engrossed he is in watching Ian until Ian says, “You're staring, Mick.”

Mickey's eyes flicker from Ian's toned body to his dashing face, his own cheeks burning at the teasing tone in Ian's voice, but he just rolls his eyes, attempting to toss his cigarette at Ian, but it lands hardly a foot from himself, then he snaps, “Fuck off,” trying to sound gruff, but it comes out more like a whine, making Ian laugh loudly.

Ian still has that dumb smile stretched across his face and Mickey fights the urge to grab at his face and spread his lips wider just to see how big his grin could actually get without splitting his face, but that would probably end up getting pretty gruesome, so he pushes away that thought and instead trains his eyes on Ian's feet that are almost tiptoeing on the edge of the ledge, his arms still stretched out to his sides and the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips as he concentrates to keep himself balanced, and Mickey can't stand the slight jump in his chest every time Ian's footing almost slips, so he calls out, “Ay, ginger, quit your fucking tightrope act and get your ass back down here. Its a construction site, not a fucking circus.”

Ian doesn't stop pacing back and forth on the ledge, purposely leaning sideways, to feign imbalance, but his training in military school assures him that his body was perfectly balanced and his feet were planted firmly on the cement. He smirks cheekily at Mickey, asking, “What if I don't want to? You gonna make me?”

“I fucking might, yeah,” Mickey replies, irritation lacing his tone, but then he relaxes his jaw, settling for a soft sigh instead of a groan, then his fingers reach up and tug at his bottom lip, knowing it would immediately draw Ian's gaze there, then he pleads in a sweet tone he knew even Ian couldn't resist, “Come on, Ian. Get down here before you fall.”

Ian gives him a sugary smile, obviously appreciating the fact that Mickey tried to use the nice guy approach, but he makes no attempt to climb down. He just sways from side-to-side, occasionally lifting up a leg just because he likes the way Mickey stands a little straighter every time he looks like he's about to fall off. Mickey gives him a warning look, unconsciously inching closer towards the ledge, arms tense at his sides as though he would catch Ian if he fell, as if he could actually carry Ian's weight. Ian notices that Mickey's practically inches away from him, so he tilts his head to the side, in that innocent puppy way he's managed to perfect over the years, and he starts saying, “Relax, Mickey, I'm not gonna fa-” But before he can finish his sentence, being too focused on pulling his puppy face, he loses his footing and now, his giraffe body is hurtling forward in midair, going straight towards Mickey.

Mickey doesn't even have time to react to the sight of Ian descending on him, his so-called plan to catch Ian being lost as he feels the large weight crushing him, both their bodies collapsing to the ground in a tangled mess and Mickey's just lucky that the thick layer of snow cushioned his fall, but he still groans in pain because Ian's sharp chin is digging into his chest and for someone who looked like a ballerina thirty seconds ago, Ian weighed a ton, and Mickey's legs were going numb underneath his weight.

“Told you, you'd fuckin' fall,” Mickey mutters, a slight grumble in his tone as he lifts his head slightly out of the dirty snow to shoot a glare at Ian.

Ian decides to shift himself and crawl up the length of Mickey's body, settling around Mickey's hips in a familiar straddle, then he leans down and pecks Mickey's nose, making the older boy immediately scrunch up his nose as a sign of disgust, but the goofy smile tugging at his lips gives him away, and he pulls up his knees so that Ian can lean back onto his legs, then he over-exaggeratedly rolls his eyes when Ian says, “Thanks for catching me.”

“Asshole,” is his reply, then he nudges Ian off and fixes their positions so that they're both sitting upright, their backs pressed to the brick wall behind them, and an unspoken agreement passed between them, then Mickey is pulling out his pack of cigarettes while Ian digs out the shiny lighter he keeps on him at all times, and then a cigarette is lit and being passed between them, the taste of each other lingering on their tongues, their usual routine, almost like clockwork.

“So,” Ian says, after sucking on their third – or was it fourth? – smoke and he turns to Mickey with a sad smile. “Missed you at the courthouse today.”

Mickey just shrugs in response, shoving his hands into his pockets when he realises there are no more cigarettes left, and he mutters, “Me and the law, not such a good combo.”

Ian snorts at that, but doesn't say anything. He just scoots a little closer to Mickey, leaning his head down so that his lips are on Mickey's ear and he asks, “What about me and you? That a good combo?”

Mickey gives Ian a flat look, lifting one shoulder in a half-assed attempt to say _Dunno_ , and Ian almost believes him, a frown slowly pulling his lips down, but then he catches the ghost of a smile on Mickey's lips, and he scoffs, shoving Mickey's shoulder with his own as Mickey barks out a laugh, then he nudges Ian's side with his elbow and says, “‘Course we are.”

Ian's face is about to break out into that sunshine grin, but he reigns it in, settling for a sultry smirk that has Mickey's eyes rolling to the back of his skull for the hundredth time today, then Ian says, “I guess this makes you my boyfriend, then.”

Mickey raises a quizzical eyebrow, matching Ian's smug look, asking, “Oh, yeah? Just like that, huh?”

Ian nods seriously, saying, “Hell yeah. No way you're getting out of it now, Milkovich.”

Mickey fakes a groan, burying his face in his hands, muffling his words when he says, “Well, fuck! There goes my bachelor status.”

Ian laughs loudly, his hand shoving at Mickey's head lightly, but his fingers unintentionally – or maybe he meant to – get caught in the raven hair, so he pulls Mickey's head close to him, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, and Mickey doesn't object, allowing Ian's fingers to massage his scalp.

“Feels fuckin' great, man,” Mickey mutters when Ian's fingers move to his temples, relaxing the tense nerves under his skin and Ian tries not to comment, but his stupid fucking questions were a part of who he was, so he can't help but ask, “What the fuck's got you all tensed up? You were attacking a pack of smokes when I got home.”

“Yeah, so?” is Mickey's response, and he can't be bothered to say anything else because Ian's fingers are like fucking magic on his skin, and he doesn't even notice when his eyes had closed, obviously too absorbed in enjoying the free massage.

“Oh, no, don't tell me,” Ian chimes, an amused tilt to his voice. “Devil on your shoulder gave you a hard time about actually _buying_ your cigs, got you stressed out about how you're finally contributing to the fuckin' economy. That it?”

“Fuck you, is what it is,” Mickey sneers, slapping away Ian's hand as he huffs, crossing his short arms over his chest. “Believe it or not, but I was actually setting up the welcome home party for your ass.”

Ian gapes at him, not bothering to cover up the shocked look on his face and his eyebrows are arched high, and he says, “ _You_ were setting up the party?” Ian knows he shouldn't laugh, especially when Mickey's got that ‘I'm two seconds away from ripping your throat out’ look on his face, but he can't stop the bubble of laughter in his throat, forcing him to burst into low chuckles. “What'd you do, huh? Pot brownies and condom balloons?”

“And beer!” Mickey adds, a deep scowl on his face as he takes offence to the fact that his favourite alcoholic drink wasn't mentioned. “Don't forget the fucking beer.”

That just makes Ian laugh even more, his hands now clutching his sides in an attempt to calm the giggles, but he can't. There's a mental image of Mickey shoving the drugged dessert into the oven, while blowing up a balloon from different coloured condoms, with a cold beer in his hand, circling around in Ian's head and the image doesn't make it any easier for him to stop laughing. In fact, it only makes him laugh louder, and the murderous look on Mickey's face grows scarier.

“You laugh now,” Mickey says, his eyes narrowing at Ian. “But can you throw a fucking party?”

“That a challenge, Milkovich?” Ian retorts, waggling his red eyebrows at Mickey as a wide grin stretches across his face.

Mickey smirks, that sharp, yet lopsided smirk. He ponders Ian's words for a moment before he drops his head in a quick nod, replying, “Fuck yeah, Gallagher.”

•

Two and a half months later and trust Ian fucking Gallagher to take everything Mickey says so seriously.

Mickey fucking hates spring. All the bright flowers and shit, it made his eyes hurt. Not like pretty flowers ever grew in the Southside anyway. But the people. _Jesus._ All dressed up in their last season-thrift shop-wannabe outfits, an explosion of colours that made Mickey sick and he wishes that it could be winter all year round. At least then, everything would be dark and gloomy and cold and he'd have an excuse to curl up against Ian at night and no one would give him a hard time for wanting to wear Ian's oddly thick sweaters and he could smoke as many damn cigarettes as he wanted in an attempt to keep himself warm. Spring also meant that he turned a year older, and he didn't need that kind of shit because all it meant was that he had wasted another year fucking up his life.

Ian disagrees. He's only been around for a few months, but in those few months, he's convinced that Mickey has become a hell of a lot more than he thinks he is. Mickey saved his life – too many times to count. Mickey came out – too iconic for anyone to ever forget. Hell, Mickey came out, _while_ saving his life –  as if anything could really beat that. The Mickey he knows now isn't the same Mickey he met that second day in the Southside. Sure, Mickey still hates his stupid questions and yeah, Mickey still gives him the oddest nicknames and okay, Mickey still has that shit-eating grin that makes Ian's heart pound a little too hard, but now, Mickey answers his questions with honesty and sincerity, and sometimes, Mickey lets the word ‘babe’ slip off his tongue and well, Mickey puts on that dumb grin because he knows its makes Ian's heart beat faster and Ian's smile does the same to him. Mickey could deny it all he wants, but anyone with a heartbeat can tell that Mickey is completely, utterly and truly in love with Ian and maybe he won't admit it, but he knows that Ian is in love with him too. Call it sappy as fuck, but being with Ian changed Mickey for the better, and even if he still says he's a complete fuck up, deep down, he knows he isn't. Ian knows he isn't. Everybody fucking knows he isn't and everybody just wants to prove it to him.

Which is why Ian tells Mickey he's feeling sick when Mickey asks if he wants to go get some drinks at the Alibi on Saturday morning, and why Lip insists on taking Mickey instead, even offering to pay for all his drinks, and why Mandy sneaks in through the kitchen door with all kinds of party shit after Lip and Mickey are gone.

Ian's welcome home party was a complete disaster. For starters, he and Mickey ended up getting home way later than they planned to, after Ian decided to race Mickey to the park like a couple of kids, and Mickey's short legs were surprisingly fast and Ian barely made it to the swings before Mickey caught up with him, tackling Ian to the ground from behind, while Ian yelled out a strangled, “I fucking won!” They were out of smokes and neither of them had any pot and Mickey left his beer on the coffee table back at the house, and while sitting on top of Ian's back for the rest of the day seemed like a good idea, no one other than the family knew about the two of them, so Mickey climbed off of him and let him turn over onto his back so that he was looking up at Mickey, that sweet puppy look present on his face, and Mickey rolled his eyes but he knew there was a small smile on his face, so he let it grow into a devious grin, and asked, “You ready to race back home or you need some time, firecrotch?” Ian just scoffed at that and reached up for Mickey's outstretched hand, beginning to pull himself up, but his ass fell right back down when Mickey purposely let go of his hand, then Mickey barked out a laughter, turning away as he shouted, “Last one home is a little bitch!” Even with the head start, Mickey fell behind Ian at one point, and he blamed karma for it. Damn his mouth. By the time they both made it up the steps of the house, they were panting like they'd hauled a fucking monster truck with their bare hands. “I'm so out of shape,” Ian had said, barely catching his breath and Mickey heaved a groan, feeling that familiar pain shoot up his side whenever he ran, but he just gave Ian a toothy grin and said, “I'll be the judge of that later.” Ian had told him to fuck off, but laughed nonetheless and they managed to drag their bodies into the living room, collapsing onto the couch, practically falling onto each other and they were pretty damn sure that everyone was staring, but they were way too tired to give a shit at that point. Mickey had left his brownies in the oven when they left and he'd completely forgotten about them until Fiona blasted him with a long lecture about how their house could've burned down and he just muttered under his breath, “Well, it didn't fucking burn down, did it?” But Fiona being Fiona, she caught what he said and gave him a good whack on the back of his head, making him feel even worse than he already did. Turns out, Mickey was a shitty party planner because apart from the burnt brownies and empty cans of beer that he had finished off himself while waiting earlier, he hadn't done shit and they ended up eating leftover casserole from God knows when in front of the tv and well, nothing said ‘Welcome home!’ better than old food and crappy reality shows.

So Ian figures it couldn't really be that hard to top Mickey's party and nothing was better than taking Mickey Milkovich up on a challenge, so Ian decides to give Mickey another surprise, and even though Mandy says that Mickey's still crap at handling surprises, Ian thinks the last one turned out pretty fucking great, so he asks Lip to get Mickey out of the house for the day and he asks Mandy to help him set the party up at home. He figures Mickey isn't too big on the whole streamers and balloons shit, so he just makes sure there's a fuck load of beer around the place and Mandy makes a bunch of Jell-O shots because Mickey had this thing for Jell-O that no one could really understand and even though Mickey would probably hate it, Ian gets Debbie to bake a cake with a huge ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICKEY’ iced on the top, and she even manages to get a bunch of candles to stick into the cake, and they're pretty sure Mickey's a hell of a lot older than 7 years old, but no one really cares how many candles you blow out on your cake anyway and Mickey would probably not even care if there weren't any candles at all, or even a cake, or even a party in the first place.

So it isn't so surprising when he steps through the front door later that day, stumbling a little from all the drinks he and Lip had gotten their hands on, and all he says is, “The fuck is this?” as he squeezes his eyes shut and brings his hands up to cover his ears when everyone practically pounces on him, shouting out, “ _Surprise!_ ” Then Carl hits the button on the radio, the old machine whirring up and blasting out loud pop music. 

Mickey just groans, whining, “Jesus Christ, why you douchebags gotta be so damn loud all the time?”

Mandy rolls her eyes at her big brother, then turns to Ian with a lazy shrug, muttering a, “Told you so.” 

Ian ignores that, taking the cake from Debbie's hands and practically shoves it in Mickey's face, shouting, “Its your birthday, Mick!”

“Babe, could you maybe take it down a notch?” Mickey groans, still pressing his palms to the sides of his head. “My head is fucking pounding.”

Then, the music stops almost abruptly and everyone's chitter chatter immediately dies down, all their heads turning to Mickey with slack jaws and wide eyes.

Even though he's drunk off his ass, Mickey still notices all the beady little stares and he looks up with an icy glare, snapping, “What?”

No one dares to say anything because everyone knows the look on Mickey's face meant death to anyone who pissed him off right now. Well, almost everyone.

“ _Babe?_ ” Fiona says, an amused tilt to her voice as her eyebrows danced on her forehead suggestively. She's heard Mickey call Ian all sorts of things. Hell, he has a new nickname for the kid every other day, but not once has she heard him call Ian something so sweet, so normal, so boyfriend-like.

Ian puts down the cake and watches as Mickey squirms under the unwanted attention and he crosses his arms and stays silent, curious to see how Mickey handles these kinds of situations because Ian knew it would only be a matter of time before he let something like that slip in front of everyone, showing them the perfect boyfriend he knew Mickey was. Sure, it was great behind closed doors when Mickey would leave soft kisses on his forehead when he woke up and when Mickey would whisper sweet nothings into his ear when he was pretending to be asleep and when Mickey would send him the stupidest texts when he wasn't with him and when Mickey would sing him back to sleep when he had nightmares. All that was far more than he ever expected to get from Mickey, and maybe its greedy of him, but he wants more. He wants everyone else to see just how great Mickey really could be, the way he sees Mickey. So, he just smiles and shrugs when Mickey looks up at him with a pleading face, silently begging him to take control of the situation, but its not happening, so Mickey clenches his jaw, turning back to Fiona and he plasters on a sugary grin that makes everyone a little uncomfortable after being subjected to Mickey's demonic scowl, then he simply says, “Yeah, babe. Why, you jealous?”

Then, just like that, everything clicks back into place as Fiona scoffs, tossing a pillow at Mickey's face, which he catches with a laugh and Ian laughs too, not expecting that to be the way Mickey handled the situation, but he couldn't have asked for a better way. He couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. So, he slides his own arm under Mickey's arms, despite Mickey's protests, and hauls him into the kitchen, muttering, “Let's get you sobered up.” Then, he literally splashes a bucket of cold water on the guy, who was slowly dozing off on the kitchen stool, but now is sitting upright, drenched and definitely wide awake, and he silently hisses, “The fuck, man?” And Ian's about to answer, a dumb grin on his pretty face, but he's interrupted when Fiona calls out, “Ian, did I just hear water-” and his smile almost immediately drops, his eyes bulging out slightly as he yells back, “I'll clean it up later, I swear!”

Then, he turns back to Mickey with an awkward bare of his teeth and Mickey stares back at him with a cold gaze and he's not sure if its the icy water running down his back or if its the fact that there is icy water running down his back thanks to Ian, so he just scampers off quickly to grab a towel for Mickey, and when he gets back, Mickey is standing over the sink, wringing out his soaking shirt and Ian can tell that Mickey had run his fingers through his hair because it had that slicked back look that looked so fucking good on him and Ian forces down the urge to catch the droplets of water on Mickey's bare back, his pale skin almost glowing in the dim kitchen light and Ian doesn't realise he's been gawking until Mickey turns to face him, whistling and snapping stubby fingers in his face as if he was a little pet, and Ian snaps out of his trance, feeling blood creep up his neck as he sheepishly hands Mickey the towel, ignoring the stir in his jeans when their hands touched.

Apparently, a cold splash and a glass of Fiona's magic hangover juice – which she had on hand now with the way the boys were getting drunk every other night – is all it takes to get Mickey to sober up and after washing that shit down with water, Mickey is back to normal, perfectly balanced and unbelievably rude as he marches back into the living room, where the rest of the family had cranked up the music again, and Ian is laughing his pretty little ass off as he spins Mandy around in some kind of cha-cha dance, and Mickey throws a look of disgust their way and yells, “Ay, Rico Suave, you wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

An alarming look places itself on Ian's face as he pulls away from Mandy, moving towards the glaring boy, but his expression shifts into a cheeky one as Mickey visibly relaxes under his touch, his fingers rubbing small circles into that place where his shoulders met his neck and Mickey tries not to show just how much he likes Ian's touch.

“You said I couldn't throw a party, right?” Ian says, an annoying grin on his face that Mickey wants to wipe off, with his own lips, preferably.

Mickey shakes his head slightly to avoid staring at Ian's lips, and he asks, “And you chose this fucking day to prove me wrong?”

Ian scrunches up his face in confusion, saying, “Well, yeah. I mean, its your twentieth birthday, isn't it?”

Mickey groans, smacking Ian right in the chest, muttering, “Don't fucking remind me how old I am, man.”

Ian can't help it, but a choking laughter bubbles up his throat because Mickey fucking Milkovich was one person he never expected to care so much about his age, to be so goddamn vain, but he sees that murderous glint in the icy blue eyes again, so he stops himself, stifling his laughter, then he straightens up, saying, “Look, Mick, I know you don't like celebrating your birthday but-”

“Because its fucking dumb, for fuck's sake,” Mickey shoots back, frustration evident in his voice. “What kind of idiot would actually want to glorify becoming a year older?”

“You!” Ian replies in an irritatingly cheery voice that makes Mickey cringe. “Well, at least for today, because everyone did a fucking great job putting this party together.”

To his surprise, Mickey doesn't object. Instead, his lips curl into a smile and his eyebrows rise, and he says, “So, you didn't plan this party all by yourself. Which obviously doesn't count. So, sorry, champ, I still win.”

But Ian being Ian, all he does is grin back at his boyfriend, saying, “Guess I'll just have another one. Turning twenty-one sounds pretty fun, huh?”

Mickey mutters a, “Fuck off,” and pushes Ian back to the radio, then heads straight for the cake, because even though he hates birthdays, he fucking loves birthday cakes, and he says, “Well, are we partying or not?”

Unfortunately for him, the Gallaghers insist on singing Happy Birthday – because you only turn twenty once, right? – and even though he gives them all cold looks, he can't deny that he feels warmth spreading in his chest and he's getting the same tingly feeling that he gets whenever Ian kisses him, and its probably because Ian is softly pecking at his head, Ian's lips barely brushing his skin, and he is slowly leaning back into Ian's body, his back almost pressed against Ian's chest, and its funny how its almost involuntary – the way Ian's head tilts a little to the left to give way to Mickey's head on his shoulder and the way Mickey's toes rise a little higher to reach Ian's ever-growing height, and they're both oblivious to the fact that practically every pair of eyes in the room are glued to the sight of them, the way they just somehow fit each other.

Mickey doesn't know how long he pretends to be having the worst time of his life, but its pretty goddamn tiring to be a party pooper when you're actually enjoying yourself, so even though he still refuses to admit it, he sets himself down on the old couch, a slice of cake on his paper plate and he doesn't bother with a fork – because what were fingers for anyway? – and he stretches his legs out over the couch as a way to say that he doesn't want to share the space, but a certain redhead doesn't seem to get the memo, because after grabbing a can of beer, he slides himself onto the worn-out sofa, lifting Mickey's legs easily and he drops them lightly onto his own lap, fingers lingering on Mickey's sweatpants-clad legs as though he could never keep his hands off Mickey and if he was being honest, he really couldn't, because Mickey was like a magnet and no matter how far he gets, Mickey just somehow pulls him right back in.

“Oh, come on, Ian,” Mickey whines, mouth full of cake and Ian chokes as he sips on his beer, taking in the sight of Mickey stuffing his face with chocolate and icing, and he notices a smudge of cream at the corner of Mickey's lips, so without warning, he leans forward and licks the sugary substance off quickly before Mickey could protest. 

Ian expects Mickey to kick him in the nuts, maybe curse him a little with that sailor mouth of his, even bash him in the head a bit if he was feeling on edge, but what he doesn't expect is for Mickey to look back at him with a sly smirk – after recovering from the initial shock of having icing licked off his face, of course – and Mickey dips his finger into a blob of icing, bringing his finger up to his mouth to lick the frosting off, but he purposely leaves a smear directly on his lips this time, his blue eyes never leaving Ian's and _holy shit_ , Mickey is just full of surprises lately, and for once, Ian doesn't know how to react, especially since its usually him that does the teasing, so he's a little slow on the pickup, but after his few moments of being trapped in Mickey's enticing gaze, Ian puts on that bright grin and tips forwards towards Mickey again and instead of licking the icing off like he did before, he gently pulls Mickey's bottom lip between his own lips, sucking slowly as he draws blood to Mickey's lips, making them swell, and before either of them could fully comprehend what was happening, Ian's body is practically laid on top of Mickey, his hand suddenly on the back of Mickey's neck as he pushes his tongue into Mickey's mouth and Mickey doesn't hesitate in kissing him back, tossing the plate aside as he stretches his neck to reach Ian and arches his back to curl against Ian's toned body. Mickey is about to shift his legs so that they're wrapped around Ian's hips, but then several loud coughs yank them out of their heated moment and remind them that they're not alone.

“Shit,” Mickey mutters against Ian's lips, feeling blood rush up his neck as he shifts uncomfortably under Ian, but  
Ian just barks out a loud laugh, his chest vibrating over Mickey, and he sneakily drops a quick kiss on Mickey's lips before he straightens up, still keeping his hands clamped around Mickey's calves.

Mandy rolls her eyes, but there's a ghost of a smile playing on her lips and she says, “Get a fucking room, douchebags. I seriously don't wanna see my brother take it up the ass from my best friend while I'm eating.”

“What the fuck makes you think I'm the one taking it in the ass?” Mickey retorts, sitting upright too, immediately shooting a glare at his sister.

Lip laughs, sucking on a cigarette, then he says, “Because its fucking obvious you're the bitch.” And its only now that Mickey realises Mandy is laid across Lip, her legs hanging off the arm of the chair, so instead of responding to Lip's words, he comments on the fact that Mandy's ass is in Lip's lap, saying, “So, _we_ gotta get a fucking room, but you two can do whatever the fuck this is right here?”

“Well, _we're_ not sucking each other's faces off,” Lip shoots back, sneering slightly at Mickey.

Mickey scowls, narrowing his eyes at the two and he just scoffs, “Well, you both want to, so what's fucking stopping you?”

“Oh, shut up, you asshole,” Mandy snaps, giving her brother an equally demonic look. “Look, Ian just told me one time that he tops. That's all.”

Almost immediately, Mickey's frustration shifts to Ian, his head whipping around to look at the redhead, who stares back at him with his wide puppy eyes and its hard to be mad at him when he pulls this face, but Mickey sets his jaw, slowly, but surely asking, “Why the fuck would you tell her something like that? Its fucking personal, man.”

Ian quickly bares his teeth in an attempt to look cute, but he knows its not working because Mickey's hard gaze is practically melting his skin off, so he stutters, trying to sound cool as he says, “I-I was just saying it generally. I mean, we weren't even together. Hell, I didn't even think you were gay! It was just- I don't know, for everyone, I guess.”

“Everyone, huh?” Mickey quirks, eyebrows arching high as his thumb unconsciously rubs at the corner of his lips. “So you've never taken a dick up your ass? Like, ever?”

Ian eyes almost pop out of their sockets at the bluntness of the question but then again, it was Mickey and you couldn't really expect anything less from him, so after getting over the initial shock, Ian slowly shakes his head, mumbling, “Well, no. They all just... _want it._ ”

Mickey smirks at that, knowing he was no different than the others, knowing how good it felt to have Ian inside him. But he wants Ian to feel the way he feels, at least once, so he says, not so quietly, “I guess we'll have to change that soon.”

“Oh, real-”

“Jesus, guys,” Fiona groans, shoving both their heads as she walks past the couch with a look of disgust on her face. “Keep it to yourselves, would you? There are kids here, for fuck's sake.”

Ian decides to place the blame on his boyfriend, nudging Mickey's shoulder roughly and huffing, “Yeah, Mickey, behave!” But Mickey just scoffs, pushing him back as he mutters, “You're the one who can't keep your hands off me, genius.”

Ian laughs loudly, batting his eyelashes charmingly, and he sighs, “Can't help it. You're too pretty.”

“Oh, _I'm_ pretty?” Mickey repeats, a low chuckle leaving his lips as his eyes rake down Ian's face. “You ever look in the mirror, ginger?”

Ian stick his tongue out at that comment and Mickey bites back the urge to call him a child, mostly because he's seen Ian do things with that same tongue that were nowhere near childish so he just stays silent and he watches as Ian suddenly perks up when the song on the radio changes, a familiar beat blasting from the speakers, and before Mickey can fully realise what's happening, Ian is on his feet, belting out, “Oh Mickey, you're so fine. You're so fine, you blow my mind. Hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!”

And its on that second ‘Hey Mickey’ that it finally hits Mickey what just happened and all he can say is, “Jesus fucking Christ,” as he drops his face into his palms with an obnoxiously loud groan. “You've gotta be kidding me,” he whines, but his voice is muffled by his hands, so Ian ignores him, pulling Mandy up to spin her around to the bouncy pop tune and the two of them surround Mickey, singing the first verse in their annoyingly loud voices.

Ian pries Mickey's hands away from his face, keeping one hand in Mickey's and the other placed on his own chest as he sings, “Oh Mickey, what a pity, you don't understand. You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand.” Mickey whines in response, trying to tug his hand away from Ian's, but Ian is relentless, getting on his knees to sing, “Oh Mickey, you're so pretty, can't you understand? Its guys like you, Mickey!” And Mickey can't help the dumb grin that crosses his face when Ian reaches up to pull him into a kiss, knowing he would immediately melt into the embrace, and he doesn't even notice that Ian has him up on his feet now, pulling away with a wink, mumbling against his lips, “Don't break my heart, Mickey.”

A bubbly laughter escapes Mickey's throat, his body unconsciously leaning onto Ian's slightly as Ian sways them both to the melody, his head bobbing lightly as he continues to mouth the words to the one-hit wonder. Mickey hates pop music, especially the ones that were overplayed and he hates dancing, especially the kind where people just move side-to-side and he hates being the centre of attention, especially the times when there was a crowd but right now, he kinda loves this song and the way Ian knows every single word, and he kinda loves dancing and the way Ian moves their bodies together, and he kinda loves the spotlight and the way Ian is sharing it with him, and he kinda loves Ian and the way Ian makes him feel so fucking alive.

Almost as if on cue, Ian's lips find their way to Mickey's ear and he murmurs, “Can I ask you something?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, grumbling, “Not another stupid fucking question, man.” But he knows there's a bright smile on his face and even though Ian can't see it, he knows its there too, so he just stretches his lips into a big grin too, pressing his cheek against Mickey's and he can feel the heat from the blood pulsing under Mickey's skin, and he knows he's never been more in love with anyone before, so he doesn't hesitate when he asks, “Do you love me?”

Mickey wants to say that he does, he fucking loves Ian with every inch of his tar black soul, but he can't get the words out. It sounded so easy in his head, but the words are stuck in his throat, choking him and he wonders if Ian notices that his teeth are biting down on his bottom lip so hard that it might break the skin and bleed, so he does what he does best and he just says, “Fuck you, Gallagher.” And he knows that's not the answer to Ian's question, but that's what love is to him, at least what little of it he could actually understand, and he hopes that it gets across to Ian and he thinks it does because Ian just laughs, that laugh that sounded like the gates of Heaven opened up, and he tightens his grip on Mickey's waist and he says, “Maybe later.”

And Mickey couldn't be more sure that he is completely in love with Ian and Ian doesn't need to say it, but he knows Ian's in love with him too, and Jesus, he's had enough of this sappy bullshit for one day, so he punches Ian's chest lightly, grabbing Ian's shirt in his fist to pull him closer and he presses his lips onto Ian's, hard and soft at the same time, and he pulls away before Ian can fully react, muttering, “Shut up and dance with me.”

Ian does as he's told, keeping his lips pressed together and he spins Mickey around like a little ballerina and for once, Mickey doesn't protest, letting Ian have his way with him, the look of bliss on his face making Ian feel all kinds of things deep in his chest and when Mickey finally shoves him off to collapse onto the couch, immediately grabbing a beer and downing the whole thing in a go, Ian knows he'll never love anyone other than Mickey Milkovich and he doesn't plan to, so he drops himself onto the couch as well, wedging his large body into the little space that Mickey left on the couch, and its so fucking obvious that the old thing isn't meant to fit them both, but they don't mind. With Mickey's arm curled around Ian's waist and Ian's fingers massaging Mickey's scalp, they could be on a sinking raft in the middle of the fucking ocean and still feel at home because that's what they were to each other. Home. And they wouldn't wanna be anywhere else in the world.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, that's it! Can't believe its finally the end. I'm sorry if it seems choppy but I tried my best to get it to flow and I hope the last part sort of pulled it all together. The party scene was meant to be the epilogue but I figured I'd just put it in straight away, so there won't be an epilogue.
> 
> Thank you so so so much for reading, especially those who have been waiting the 826347915 years it took me to finish this, YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! If you enjoyed this story, please spread the love! I had such a blast writing this story and its honestly the only work I've EVER completed so thank you to everyone who read it. I don't think I'll have anything else up for a while but I do have a bunch of ideas for new stories so come back and check in sometime! Thank you again and I love you all!! Xoxo


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